Good Men of Britain
by FlippySpoon
Summary: Lady Anstruther's nephew, Jeffrey, comes to Downton, stirring up trouble for Jimmy Kent.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** If you're interested in face claims, I wrote Jeffrey Anstruther with Ben Whishaw in mind.

**Chapter 1: Jeffrey**

It was nearly November and that meant everything had gone a bit orange. Jimmy was hardly witness to this. He was more likely to hear the family talk about how pretty the leaves were than to see them himself, unless there was some excuse for a walk to the village. To Jimmy's mind, the season was moving slower than usual. He thought this because Mr. Barrow's beaten face had only just gone back to normal, and that had seemed to take forever. But Thomas would always have a little scar by his lip. Jimmy's eyes went straight to it when he looked at Thomas; such a lovely reminder of his own terrible cowardice. Then there had been Matthew Crawley's funeral. The family's grief made everything feel heavy. Even the air seemed too thick and harder to breathe. But at breakfast, the family was always talking about the damn leaves.

The damn leaves were just now blowing into the ironing room downstairs. Jimmy cracked the window open because it felt stuffy when he was ironing the newspaper. But a gusty wind was throwing detritus inside and Jimmy set down the iron to shut it again. When he went back to his ironing, he was briefly distracted by a headline about a murder in London. He went so far as to set the iron down yet again and read it.

Jimmy had a relaxed view of life in service.

Part of him resented that he was asked to do absurd tasks like ironing the newspapers, even if his livelihood did depend on it.

"Ahem."

Jimmy glanced up to see Thomas hovering in the doorway, eying him ruefully. He rolled his eyes and went back to ironing.

Thomas said, "What if I'd been Mr. Carson?"

"Then you'd be a crotchety ole codger, wouldn't you?" Jimmy said easily.

Thomas smiled but said, "Mind you finish quickly. Lady Mary's already rung for breakfast."

Jimmy nodded and Thomas left him.

They were hardly best friends, but Jimmy made an effort to be nicer to Thomas. He still felt a knot of tension in his stomach around him. He knew what caused it. But he would bet all the money in his pocket that Thomas didn't.

At the servant's breakfast he made conversation with Thomas about the murder in London. Alfred was smirking; he seemed to take some amount of amusement in seeing how Jimmy's attitude had so abruptly changed.

"It's 'cause you feel sorry for him, in't?" Alfred had said when Jimmy had come down once from visiting Thomas as he was convalescing. "Didn't know that were possible for the likes of you."

Jimmy was scarfing down his toast when Mr. Carson said, "We'll be having guests soon. Friends of yours, James. The Lady Anstruther."

Jimmy hoped nobody noticed when he paused mid-chew and his eyes narrowed. He recovered quickly and swallowed. "Oh. Yes?"

"As I recall, you claimed to be a particular favorite of hers," Mr. Carson said.

Jimmy's head was buzzing. "She was fond of me," he said.

Anna said, "Seems like an odd time for guests."

"Maybe they want company," Mr. Bates suggested. "Take their mind off things."

It was almost strange not to hear a sardonic comment from O'Brien about it, but she was gone now; off in India with the MacClares. One less thing to worry about, as far as Jimmy was concerned. Except now there was one more very large thing to worry about. Or…maybe not. Maybe it was just old Lady Anstruther and everything would be fine.

"Is she bringing anyone with her?" Jimmy said, trying to keep his voice even. "Family, I mean."

"Yes, she's bringing her nephew," Mr. Carson said. "Mr. Jeffrey Anstruther."

And there it was.

Jimmy's toast suddenly tasted like cardboard.

Suddenly everyone was looking at him with interest.

"Do you know him well?" Anna said casually.

Jimmy swallowed. "A little," he croaked.

"What's he like then?" Thomas said.

_A loaded question if ever I've heard one_, Jimmy thought.

"He's…" Jimmy shrugged. "He's…colorful."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Meanin'?'

"He's an artist," Jimmy mumbled. "Got a big personality."

No use pretending Jeffrey Anstruther was just another dull aristocrat. They would meet him soon enough. Then he would probably cause trouble. Because that's what Jeffrey did, even without meaning to.

Not Jeffrey.

Mr. Anstruther.

"Sounds like an interesting sort," Anna said brightly.

"They're supposed to be in France," Jimmy muttered. "I mean...I thought they were. In France."

"Lady Anstruther was in London in the summer," Carson supplied. "Lady Grantham made her acquaintance at Eaton Square. Not that it's any of our business."

_Well, you're the one talkin', you daft old man_, Jimmy thought.

Trouble. Doubtless, there would be trouble. Of which, Jimmy had had quite enough, thank you. Not that it wasn't partly the fault of his own hotheaded ambition. Things had only just been resolved between he and Thomas. Jimmy felt an ache begin in the back of his head.

It was inevitable, he supposed. Part of him had been waiting for it.

Mrs. Hughes said, "I wonder if they fancy this Mr. Anstruther a suitor for Lady Mary? But no... far too soon for that." The question earned a reproachful look from Mr. Carson.

Despite his newly dreadful mood, just the thought of Jeffrey Anstruther courting Lady Mary Crawley made Jimmy snort a laugh and choke on his tea.

* * *

Two weeks later, Jimmy was standing in line in front of the house with the others. When the cars pulled up, he and Alfred strode forward. Alfred was quicker and got to Lady Anstruther's side first, escorting her out. That left Jimmy to open the door for Jeffrey.

Mr. Anstruther.

_Mr. Anstruther,_ he inwardly growled.

For two weeks he had been worrying about this moment. What would Jeffrey say? Was his coming here a coincidence?

He opened the door, an expression of blank congeniality on his face. Jeffrey Anstruther stepped out and winked at him.

_Oh, bloody hell._

He looked the same, albeit a little more gaunt. But he still wore his thick chestnut brown hair a little longer than was considered proper. A long white scarf was flung around his neck as if in defiance of his grey suit. His smile was too wide. His blue eyes were too bright and just too...intense. But he looked young.

_Oh, Jeffrey._

_ Mr. Anstruther._

Jimmy got back in line and dared a glance at Thomas, but his expression was brilliantly unreadable.

"Ah, Yorkshire air!" Mr. Anstruther declared. "I decree it the perfume of the gods."

"That's enough, Jeffrey," Jimmy heard Lady Anstruther mutter in his direction. But her expression was kind and Jeffrey only smiled and stopped talking. Lady Anstruther was short, and just a bit stout. Her mousey brown hair was in a loose bun and she wore the sort of long draping style of frock that had become so fashionable lately.

"Cora..." Lady Anstruther said with a sigh. Lady Grantham came to her and they clasped hands. "My dear, I cannot begin to convey to you my sympathies..."

Lady Grantham nodded and smiled. "Thank you. It has been...hard. Very hard. But..." She sighed and gave a sad shrug of her shoulders. "Here we are. And we are so glad to have you, Agatha."

Lord Grantham greeted Mr. Anstruther stiffly. He looked a little alarmed. But that was better than the grimness that he usually exuded these days. Lady Edith was off in London, but Lady Mary stood, stoic, behind them. She hadn't been much for laughs lately. She stepped forward, graciously introducing herself, clad in black.

Lady Rose was late. Having moved into Downton, she had been on good behavior. Jimmy supposed she didn't want to cause trouble for a grieving family. She came trotting out the front door, breathless and apologetic as she was introduced.

Mr. Anstruther could hardly contain himself. "What a vision of loveliness! You and I will get on famously, I know it already."

Now Thomas looked just slightly amused, Jimmy thought. Or maybe he had an itch. It was hard to tell when Thomas was wearing his butler face.

Lady Anstruther finally noticed Jimmy's presence and her face lit up, "Oh yes, of course. Jimmy is here!" She strode up to him and patted his shoulder. "How lovely to see you, Jimmy! We've missed you so much. I hope you're enjoying your time here at Downton?"

"Yes, m'lady." Jimmy smiled and nodded.

Jeffrey, mercifully, was busy talking to Lady Rose. So at least he wasn't going to make a scene of any kind.

"I'm afraid I have no valet," Jeffrey said. "Poor chap's gone and twisted his ankle playing cricket." Jimmy noticed Lady Anstruther appeared wary at this pronouncement. Jimmy wondered if it was a bald-faced lie or not. "I wonder if..."

"Of course," Lord Grantham said. "Our Mr. Barrow will look after you."

Thomas gave a little nod and Jeffrey looked slightly put out, his eyes darting over to Jimmy.

_Jeffrey, you loon. You know I'm no valet._

Then Jeffrey's eyes caught a look at Thomas and only a close friend would've recognized _that_ look. Although Thomas likely recognized it as well.

"Very good," Jeffrey said. "Thank you."

"Oh God," Jimmy mumbled.

Alfred nudged him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothin' a bit of opium and a bottle of wine wouldn't fix," he muttered.

"Huh?"

* * *

Thomas had dressed Jeffrey for dinner. Jimmy was near death with curiosity about how that had gone. But Thomas didn't give him any funny looks. Nor did he appear disheveled or especially satisfied when he returned from Mr. Anstruther's room. Dinner went smoothly. Jeffrey had been on his best behavior. Which wasn't saying much. He still talked too loud and danced on the edge of propriety. The Dowager Countess of Grantham had seemed amused by him and the Dowager Countess of Anstruther only had to kick him under the table a few times. Jimmy had seen him wince as she shot him looks of warning. Mr. Branson had been out on the estate during the arrival, but he was at dinner, looking generally puzzled by Mr. Anstruther.

He'd also seen Jeffrey smirk every time somebody referred to Jimmy as James.

There had been one telling moment when Jimmy had served Jeffrey his braised lamb. Jeffrey had grinned and said, "Thanks ever so much, _James_. You're a lamb, ha ha." Then he looked Jimmy in the eye for a beat too long.

Jimmy tried to convey an expression that said, _Why are you here? _

He translated Jeffrey's response to be something along the lines of, _Come to my room tonight and find out._

Thomas had gone to the kitchen to fetch more wine and missed the silent exchange. Jimmy thanked the gods. Thomas would surely have noticed it.

Jimmy caught up with Thomas in the hallway downstairs and said, "Ah, Mr. Barrow? I know you're meant to valet for Mr. Anstruther but I wonder if I might do it?"

"Against his lordship's orders?" Thomas said warily.

"Well, yes," Jimmy said. "But I know Mr. Anstruther and... I thought it might be good experience. For valeting. He's not very particular, you see. He won't have any complaints, I promise."

Thomas seemed hesitant. Jimmy's only worry was whether Thomas was questioning him on the basis of Lord Grantham's order and his own experience valeting, or because he suspected something odd was going on with Mr. Anstruther. Or, God forbid, because he had a certain sort of interest in Mr. Anstruther himself.

But he just said, "Alright. I suppose you ought to get some experience. But if you have any questions..."

"I'll come to you straight away," Jimmy promised.

Jimmy dreaded the thought of talking to Jeffrey, especially under the pretense of taking his clothes off. On the other hand, the thought of Thomas Barrow and Jeffrey Anstruther alone in a room together for too long... Even England didn't have the stalwartness to carry on through such a debacle. Even if nothing happened, they might talk about him. He didn't want that either.

That evening, Jimmy raised his hand to knock on Jeffrey Anstruther's door, hesitated for a protracted moment of doubt, and then tapped softly.

"Just a minute!" A voice rang out.

Jeffrey Anstruther opened the door with a rush of air, his expression blandly welcoming. When he saw it was Jimmy, he grinned widely. "Hello, you."

Jimmy couldn't help but feel happy to see him, and also positively demolished. Both. Both at the same time. Naturally. He stepped inside and closed the door, slumping against it with a sudden rush of exhaustion and resting his head.

"What are you doing here?" Jimmy said to the door.

"Ho!" Jeffrey barked. "That's no kind of greeting after… Will you turn around and look at me?" With great reluctance, Jimmy faced him, leaning on the door as if hoping it might swallow him up. Jeffrey was still wearing his dinner jacket. Doubtless waiting patiently for Jimmy to undress him. "After almost a year and a half and no word?" Jeffrey said.

"I told you there wouldn't be word," Jimmy said calmly. "I don't suppose this is a coincidence?"

"Hardly." Jeffrey leaned on the edge of a low sideboard and examined his nails.

"How did you find me?"

"Oh, come now," Jeffrey laughed. "You wrote back to Neddy. You wanted to be found."

"I told him not to-"

"He didn't know you meant _me_. He's my valet and I'm his master. All he had to do his ask. You ought to have made it clear. If you meant it."

"I did."

"Well, it didn't work. Happily."

"Then I'm only surprised it took you so long," Jimmy said. He rubbed his eyes. He felt so tired. But God, it was good to see Jeffrey. He could admit that much to himself. At least to know he was still in one piece.

"Took months of dropping hints to auntie that she ought to make friends with the Crawleys and how I've heard their such wonderful chaps. And…" Jeffrey stood and turned around to pour them two drinks. Jimmy followed and saw his smile falter. Anyone who didn't know him so well would've missed it. "And I got sidetracked for a while."

Jimmy had suspected as much and he felt a twinge of sympathy. No, more like an ache. That would explain the gauntness. "One of your dark moods then," he said. It wasn't a question. "How bad was it?"

"Six months in Vienna," Jeffrey said, handing him a glass of whiskey. "Of course, Papa told them it's because I'm a deviant. So they had me looking at photographs of naked ladies while I touched myself. Among other horrors."

"God... I don't suppose any of it worked?"

"Ah, no. That tripe never works." Jeffrey took a healthy swallow of his drink. "Anyway, it wasn't as awful as it sounds." At Jimmy's disbelieving look, he shook his head. "No, I promise. They let me paint. I got a lot of work done."

"Wish I could see it," Jimmy said softly.

"How sweet of you." Jeffrey touched his cheek and Jimmy turned his head away. Jeffrey went on as if nothing had happened. "The doctors even convinced Papa he should let me pursue it. So they weren't utterly evil. Not like those demons in London."

"And what did dear father say?" Jimmy said, biting out the words.

"That he'll allow it."

"Really?" Jimmy perked up. For a moment it almost felt like old times, as if nothing was different. Except that everything was different. Most especially him.

"As long as I get married," Jeffrey added. "Carry on the family name. And no more men."

"I suppose that's too much to ask," Jimmy muttered.

"Oh, are _we_ having this conversation again too?" Jeffrey said. "I've missed it so."

"What's the use?" Jimmy said with a shrug. "I already know how it ends."

They were veering off course. He was already picking up old habits like socks out of a drawer. Jeffrey had a knack for sucking him in.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Look, why did you come here?" Jimmy said, returning to his purpose. He took a sip of whiskey.

"Because I missed you, silly," Jeffrey said, shaking his head. He took a step forward and Jimmy took a step back.

"I don't do that anymore," Jimmy said quietly. "I'm not like that. Not here."

"Really... " His face darkened. He knew Jeffrey wouldn't like that. Not just because it would mean nothing would happen between them. But he would take it as a philosophical betrayal too. Jimmy watched as his expression shifted with determination back into glibness. "Well, I suppose it's nice to know there hasn't been anyone after me. Unless... Not girls, surely?"

"No," Jimmy said. "No one."

"Ugh, what a waste. You're so good at it."

Jimmy just rolled his eyes at that. "Look... Don't go stirring things up, alright? Don't give me away. There's already been trouble."

"What sort of... Oh, I see. _Quelle surprise._ Jimmy Kent is breaking hearts." His eyes widened suddenly and he clutched Jimmy's arm. "Oh, please God, tell me it's to do with Tall Dark and Handsome? But of course, it is. I sussed him out straight away. Bloody hell in heaven, those cheekbones, that _mouth_... I was half hoping he would show up again tonight. And nothing happened, if you want to know. Perfect gentlemen, the both of us. Though I asked him if he knew you well and he thinks you hung the moon. I suspect the both of us only have eyes for you. What a shame. Imagine what that mouth can-"

"Oh, will you _stop._"

He had imagined what that mouth could do. He was also annoyed by how happy he was that nothing had happened between Jeffrey and Thomas.

"Don't worry, love. I still like you best."

"Does your father know your here?" Jimmy said, leaning against the mahogany armoire and out of reach.

"Yes."

"Does your father know _I'm_ here?"

"God no," Jeffrey chortled. "Auntie knows better than that. And I swore Neddy to secrecy. Besides, if he were to find out, we could all claim it was a coincidence. It's not as if it's you're fault anyhow."

"Because your father has a long history of listening to reason."

"Enough about papa," Jeffrey said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't want to think about him. Jimmy, or should I say James... How ridiculous. You're a Jimmy if ever there was one. Aren't you going to undress me?"

Jimmy glared at him over his glass. "Seriously?"

"I'm the guest and you're the valet," Jeffrey said, smirking. "Go on. Valet."

Jimmy trudged over to Jeffrey and began untying his tie. "You're impossible," Jimmy said.

"As you've reminded me many times. You ought to start with the shoes, you know."

"Shut up."

"Are you really living the monk's life out here in the middle of nowhere?" Jeffrey said sadly.

"I'm in service. We're always supposed to be living the monk's life."

"But it's because of what happened."

"What do you think?" He took off the tie and tossed it on the dresser. He took off Jeffrey's jacket and hoped things weren't about to get...unwise.

"That's disappointing. Honestly. You shouldn't be frightened out of being yourself," Jeffrey said with great feeling.

"Don't..." Jimmy shook his head. "_Don't_ let's start that."

There was one argument going one way, and the same argument going the other. They had trotted along like that for eight years by Jimmy's count.

"Fine," Jeffrey said with a heavy sigh. "In that case, tell me about Mr. Beautiful-"

"Barrow."

"Ah, but you knew just who I was talking about. What's the story there, if you're living celibate? Don't worry. I won't be jealous. _Après moi le déluge_ and all that rot."

Jimmy somewhat doubted that claim.

"Nothin'," Jimmy said, removing Jeffrey's cuff links. "It's hard to explain."

"But he's in love with you, I venture?"

"I suppose he thinks he is. But he doesn't know me." Here was the dangerous part, Jimmy thought as he went about unbuttoning Jeffrey's shirt.

"Trust me, love. If he knew you, he'd be even more in love with you. I'm an expert on the subject. But you said there was trouble?"

"If I told you about it, you'd never speak to me again," Jimmy said.

"I'm glad you want to speak to me at all."

Jimmy removed Jeffrey's shirt and laid it on the dresser. "I don't want you to hate me." Jimmy took off the collar next and Jeffrey took off his undershirt himself, tossing it on the bed.

"I'd never," Jeffrey whispered. He stroked Jimmy's cheek. "God, but I've missed you."

"Don't," Jimmy muttered. He took Jeffrey's hand away. "I-I can't... I'm not like that anymore-"

"You can't just switch it off, love-"

"Yes, you can. I _did_, I-"

He was interrupted by Jeffrey's lips and it all came rushing back; they were sixteen and groping blindly in one of Lady Anstruther's linen closets, kissing shyly behind the tall hedges in the garden. There he was telling Jeffrey dirty jokes he'd heard from the boys downstairs and there was Jeffrey spinning horrible tales of what he'd like to do to the upstairs sorts who looked at him like he was some unwanted pet and most of all what he'd like to do to his father. It was so odd. They weren't at all alike. But Jimmy supposed if you met the right wrong person at the perfect age, falling in love was inevitable. Once he and Jeffrey had hidden away in her Ladyship's attic when they were both nineteen. They'd gotten drunk and Jimmy had let Jeffrey paint his naked body before taking him on the floor. That had been messy.

Now Jeffrey kissed him desperately and Jimmy was swept away again. How many times had Jimmy almost left Anstruther's even before the catastrophe with Jeffrey's father? As many times as Jeffrey had convinced him to stay. Because Jeffrey was mad, impetuous, uncompromising, and impossible. But he was also funny and he could do _this_ sort of thing. That was not to mention, that they knew each other better than anyone else. Jeffrey's tongue was in his mouth and somehow Jimmy's arms were wrapped around his bare back. Then Jimmy flashed on Thomas's brutalized face, as if it had never healed, and he pulled away.

"Wait, wait, wait no. No, I can't."

"'Course you, can," Jeffrey muttered, kissing his way up to Jimmy's ear.

He pushed Jeffrey away, but gently. "No. No. I can't, it's too dangerous and...we shouldn't anyhow. It's over. It was over a long time ago."

"Is it because of _him_? Your Mr. Barrow?"

"No. No, it's not that." Jimmy stepped back and smoothed his hair. "Look, it is nice to see you. And we can talk. But nothin' else. I think you can dress yourself for bed tonight. I should go downstairs."

In the hallway Jimmy took a moment to compose himself and smoothed his hair. By all rights he should have been angrier at Jeffrey for sweeping into Jimmy's world and stirring everything up again. That was not to mention the danger of Jeffrey's father finding out. He made his way down to the servants' hall. They would only be here a few days. He just had to control himself and stick to his guns.

Funny though, how the thought of being with Jeffrey seemed like a terrible betrayal against Mr. Barrow. It was beyond ridiculous.

Jimmy made himself a cup of tea and found the man himself still sitting at the table with his newspaper and cigarette. He greeted Jimmy with a friendly smile. Sometimes Thomas's sweetness towards him made him want to break things. He tried not to question that strange impulse too much.

"I see what you meant by colorful," Thomas said slyly as Jimmy sat down across from him.

Jimmy sighed. "He's... He's..."

"A troubled soul?"

"Well, in more ways than one."

"Hmm." Thomas sucked on his cigarette, cheeks hollow. "Lady Anstruther's maid...what's her name?"

"Finley."

"Finley said he's a loony."

"I wouldn't call him that to his face," Jimmy said simply.

"But he's mad. Isn't he? That's what she said."

Jimmy glanced away at the table, carving a groove into the wood with his thumbnail. "As a hatter," he said. "But he doesn't hear voices or anything like that."

"You must know him better than you let on," Thomas said. He didn't appear to be implying anything.

"Well... I started at Anstruther's when I was sixteen," Jimmy said, trying to hedge. "Jef- Mr. Anstruther always spent a lot of time there. He doesn't care for his father."

"And here I thought I was the only one you knew," Thomas said.

Jimmy knew exactly what he meant, but only said, "Oh no, Mr. Barrow. I've known lots of mad men."

* * *

The next morning Jimmy sat next to Thomas at breakfast because all the other seats were taken. Not that he had an objection to sitting next to Mr. Barrow anymore, except that to his mind, when they were that close together there was a tension so palpable that he couldn't imagine others didn't notice it. In the beginning when Miss O'Brien had manipulated his admittedly toxic sense of ambition, Jimmy had only been aggravated by Thomas's constant advances. He had come to Downton to start over and already there was an annoying lovesick valet to appease if he wanted to make his way. But the kiss had awakened an intense paranoia which O'Brien certainly stoked. They would know. They would all know about him and it would be Jeffrey Anstruther's father all over again. Well, kill or be killed.

He liked to think he wouldn't ever have called the police.

It was the year after that that had driven Jimmy to distraction. Thomas emanated love like a magic spell from a sorcerer in a story. Every look, word, and gesture expressed constant devotion. It only made Jimmy more angry. Even now.

"Saved you a scone," Thomas said easily, passing him a plate.

_You're a fool_, Jimmy thought. _You're a mad fool. As mad as Jeffrey is._

"Thanks," Jimmy muttered, and smiled tightly.

Under the table, their knees were touching. This didn't seem to affect Mr. Barrow at all. To Jimmy it seemed as audacious as if he were massaging Jimmy's neck at the piano again. Or kissing him in his sleep. He imagined that scenario often, in a million different ways, and never with the reality of Alfred interrupting them.

Jimmy didn't move his leg, allowing the contact. He lost the thread of the conversation for the next few minutes, trying to sort himself out.

"I think Mr. Anstruther's alright," Alfred said. "Even if he's a lunatic. And he does prance about a bit."

Jimmy glared daggers at Alfred but no one noticed. He clenched his fork in his hand.

Mr. Carson spoke up. "We will not speculate on the mental wellness of our guests, Alfred."

"But he does prance," Alfred said with his mouth full.

Mr. Carson said nothing to that and Jimmy kicked Alfred's leg. Hard. Immediately he felt stupid.

"Ow!" Alfred yelped. "Wassat for?"

"Bein' a dunce," Jimmy muttered.

Thomas looked surprised and chuckled.

_Good job being inconspicuous_, he thought to himself.

Jeffrey and Lady Anstruther spent much of the afternoon wandering the grounds with the Crawleys. When they returned and Jimmy served them tea, he got the impression that Jeffrey had perked them up a bit. He was good at that when he wanted to be. Not when he was in one of his dark moods. Then you wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. Sometimes he got _too_ cheerful, to the point of delusion. You wouldn't want to be anywhere near him then either.

Jimmy got Jeffrey dressed for dinner that night with only a little bit of flirting on Jeffrey's end. But he didn't try anything.

At dinner, they were all talking about travel and Jeffrey said, "I'm thinking of moving to Berlin. Or America. Striking out on my own."

Lady Anstruther almost choked. "Whatever are you on about?"

"You know I've always thought of it," Jeffrey said. "Perhaps it's time now. Might take someone with me. If I found the right person."

His gaze shifted almost imperceptibly to Jimmy who was going around with the sauce.

"Sounds like rather a bold plan," Lord Grantham said.

"I'm a bold man," Jeffrey said.

Jimmy heard the Dowager Countess say to Mary, "That is the understatement of the century."

There was no easy way for Jimmy to say, _You are out of your bloody mind and that's not happening_, with his eyes. So Jimmy just went about his duties. They'd talk about it later, he supposed. It wasn't a new idea. Jeffrey had promised to run off for as long as Jimmy had known him.

Something distressing happened after dinner.

Mrs. Hughes had asked Jimmy to fetch some winter blankets from a storage closet in the attic, because the autumn was becoming particularly chilly and she wanted them checked for moth if they were needed. Jimmy had publicly grumbled. Why were they keeping blankets in the attic to begin with? Shouldn't they be with the linens?

This particular storage closet was in the dark recesses of the attic and you had to carry a candle to see anything. It was late and the attic was a little spooky. Jimmy had to duck under the low doorway into the closet where he found Mr. Barrow fighting with a collapsible cot.

"What're you doin'?" Jimmy said.

"Thought I'd help you," Thomas said, shoving the cot into the corner. "You won't be able to carry them all down by yourself. Got nothin' better to do."

Jimmy knew that was a lie. "I _can_ do it myself," he muttered. "It's my job."

"Don't be stupid."

"You don't have to do me favors," Jimmy said.

"I like to do you favors." Every once in a while he would say something like that. Something that meant: You know, because I'm in love with you.

As if it were ordinary.

_You know why._

Once again, the reminder made Jimmy feel guilty, enraged, frustrated, possibly a little ecstatic...

The list ran on.

Thomas poked about looking for a step stool because the shelves with the blankets were too high. "They've caught that murderer in London. Or they think they have."

They had both been following the story that Jimmy had seen in the paper weeks before. The others thought they were morbid when the spoke about it.

"Is it a lady?" Jimmy said, shoving his feelings to the back of his brain. He put his candle on the shelf next to Thomas's. "Last week they said they thought it was a lady."

"Yes," Thomas said. "A washer woman."

Thomas set the step stool in place and Jimmy climbed it to reach the blankets atop the shelf. "Why did she do it? Was it because..." He trailed off because he lost his balance and grabbing the shelf for support, he jostled it. Both candles tumbled to the floor and were extinguished. "Oh, what the devil..."

The darkness fought with his equilibrium. He lost his balance again, and stumbled off the step stool and falling into Thomas against the opposite shelf. He'd twisted his ankle slightly. It wasn't bad but it was sore.

"Blast it," he muttered. He was stunned momentarily and didn't move. He blinked and got his bearings.

Thomas said, "Are you alright?"

Jimmy closed his eyes for a moment in the pitch blackness and couldn't tell a difference when he'd opened them. He was right up against Thomas, who held his arms gently, having caught him. He felt Thomas's breath on his neck.

For a minute, nothing felt real. The darkness made it imaginary; a dream. You could do anything you wanted in a dream, he thought in a second of madness.

Thomas said, "Um...Jimmy?"

Jimmy closed his eyes again.

_It's a dream. You can do anything you like in a dream._

Jimmy leaned back into Thomas and heard his intake of breath.

_I can still pretend I was stunned. I got dizzy. I didn't know what was happening._

He turned around, fumbling to grab the shelf for support on either side of Thomas, who dropped his arms. Jimmy felt the warm of his body so near. Jimmy could tell just where Thomas's lips were from the puffs of air on his cheek. Their breath mingled. Feverish.

He imagined what expression Thomas might be making right then. It was strangely exciting not to know. He assumed it was either astonishment or desire.

He wanted Thomas so badly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted anything so badly. Maybe Jeffrey. Back when he was sixteen and everything was new.

_I was dizzy. I was just composing myself. For the longest minute in the world._

Well, he _was_ rather dizzy. But not for falling.

He didn't even realize he was tipping his head forward until he felt skin brush his lips and it brought him crashing back to his senses. He all but jumped back, feeling along the shelves to dash out the door, through the attic, and down the stairs, his ankle throbbing.

He headed away from the servants' hall and into the main corridor to the saloon. He stood for a moment, breathless and stupid. Everyone had gone up. Which meant Jeffrey was about to ring his bell soon enough anyhow. Jimmy headed up the stairs; coherent thought having taken a bit of a holiday.

He knocked on Jeffrey's door and walked in before it was answered. Jeffrey was in his black tie shirt sleeves. He stood over his dresser with a drink and looked up at Jimmy in surprise.

Jimmy closed the door and locked it behind him.

"Hellooo," Jeffrey said.

Jimmy licked his lips and strode forward with purpose. "I'm not runnin' away with you, so you can forget that right now. It's bloody mad."

"Well, I've got a couple of days to try to convince you."

"I'm not."

Jeffrey squinted at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong with _me_? That's a laugh." He stood close to Jeffrey. Jeffrey who knew about him. Who knew nearly_ everything_ about him, except the really awful parts which were mostly recent. "I'm not runnin' away with you and everything is over between us. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Jimmy didn't really believe him and he didn't care. He took Jeffrey's head in his hands and pulled him forward for a rough kiss. Jeffrey clutched his shoulders so hard it hurt and they fumbled with buttons and ties and waistcoats, stumbling to the bed. Jeffrey gave up unbuttoning his shirt all the way and yanked it off over his head. He pulled Jimmy down on top of him as they fell back into the blankets.

"You were the only thing that got me through Vienna," Jeffrey said, throwing Jimmy's shirt on the floor.

"Don't say things like that." Jimmy tugged Jeffrey's trousers down and tossed them aside. "It's one night. Alright?" He buried his lips in Jeffrey's neck and ran his hands up his chest. Jeffrey was a little thinner than he used to be. It felt different.

"Yes. One night," Jeffrey whispered, and grasping Jimmy's backside, arched up into him. Jimmy groaned in response. "Then you can go back to your stupid monk's life and your silly Mr. Barrow."

"Forget him" Jimmy mumbled.

Jeffrey took Jimmy's trousers and underwear away, possibly by means of magic. He was dexterous that way.

Then they were naked and writhing together before Jimmy dispensed with the flirtation and looked up, saying, "Do you have any-"

Jeffrey tossed him a pot of petrol jelly that he caught neatly in his hand. He tossed Jeffrey a look of knowing annoyance. But he took Jeffrey's prick into his mouth anyway.

A few minutes later Jeffrey's legs were around him as he thrusted, sweaty and blissfully brainless. He braced himself above Jeffrey and gazed down at him; his pretty blue eyes and that face that liked to smile with deceptive innocence.

"I remember this..." Jimmy said, his voice husky. He grinned and Jeffrey laughed. When that wonderful feeling begin to reach a tumult, they kissed. Jimmy tried to ignore Thomas's beaten face in his head as they came one after the other on the Crawley's sheets.

Once returned to his room (he had gone nowhere near the servants' hall after he left Jeffrey), Jimmy laid in his bed, still smelling of sex. Having come down from the high, he was panicked now about what might happen with Mr. Barrow in the morning.

_I'll just deny everything_, he thought. _I was getting my bearings. Why, Mr. Barrow? What did you think was happening?_

Thomas wouldn't press it. He wouldn't want to start trouble again. They had just become friends. He might look at Jimmy a little funny. Was there a chance on earth he would make advances again? Hands on the shoulder or standing just a bit too close? Unlikely.

Jimmy rubbed his eyes. A large part of him so intensely wished for that, it hurt.

Thomas might say nothing at all. Nothing at all ever and give him the cold shoulder; too wary, and rightly so, about reacting the wrong way when it came to Jimmy. He might freeze him out entirely. No more saved scones, chats about the news, and how ridiculous almost everyone in the world was. No more compliments, or that smile that was so incongruously sweet on such a man whenever Jimmy made a point of being nice.

* * *

In the morning, Mr. Barrow hadn't saved him a scone. Not that he always saved him a scone. Then Jimmy felt simple when he finally noticed that there were plenty of scones to go around in the first place.

"Mornin', Jimmy," Thomas said, and glanced up with his usual friendly morning smile.

That was all.

Absolutely normal.

Then he went back to his paper.

"Morning, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy managed to say.

Thomas acted like nothing had happened. It didn't even seem like he was awkwardly pretending everything was normal. It just was.

It boggled Jimmy's mind to the degree that he wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing. Maybe he hadn't been standing as close to Thomas for as long as he had thought.

Jeffrey was a little handsy when Jimmy dressed him in the morning. Jimmy knew well how immeasurably idiotic he had been the night before.

He went so far as to apologize.

"I'm sorry for last night," he said as he buttoned up Jeffrey's shirt. "I shouldn't have done. I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"God, don't apologize for _that_," Jeffrey said with a laugh. "Soon they'll be putting you in the sanitarium. But... It makes me sad that you hide. You're so different now."

"I'm _careful _now," Jimmy said. "Last night was... It won't happen again."

"You know who I remember fondly?" Jeffrey said, wistfully sighing. "Jimmy Kent losing all his money at cards and laughing it off. Pretending to drop something at dinner and grabbing me under the table? Jimmy Kent swimming naked with me in our fountain when nobody was about? Every time Auntie went off to London, it was like we had to the whole world to ourselves."

He tied Jeffrey's tie. "Yes, well I'm better at cards now. And... And you can't pretend everything was rosy before your father found us out. It wasn't. Certainly not in your dark times. When you were too far the other way, it was just as bad."

"You make it sound so dramatic," Jeffrey said, but his tone betrayed him.

"Jeffrey..." Jimmy shook his head and turned away to fetch his suit jacket. "You said you'd off yourself if I ever left you."

Jeffrey tossed his head. "Well, I didn't, did I? And...I have flair."

He took Jeffrey's left wrist and traced the thick white scars there with his thumb. "You're not allowed to joke about that sorta thing."

"It was only the one time," he said, as if it were all so casual. But he yanked his wrist back. "I was very blue then. I didn't want to go to war. Didn't want you to go either. Although, it was romantic to be your wartime sweetheart."

"It wasn't as if I was at the front," Jimmy said with a snort. He helped Jeffrey on with his jacket. "I pushed papers around in Bristol for a year."

"They can't put a face that lovely in front of the guns. That's just not cricket."

Jeffrey was dressed but now Jimmy was thinking about old times and Jeffrey's horrible father. What he'd done the night before...and Thomas. He felt a little sick.

"Don't look sad when I'm so happy to see you," Jeffrey said.

"I can't run away with you."

"Just think about it."

"If you'd really wanted to go, you would've done a long time ago," Jimmy said.

"It's different now," Jeffrey said softly.

"Why?" He tipped his head. Jeffrey did look overly serious. And not fake-serious like he sometimes did. "What's happened?"

"Look, never mind that. I don't want it to be the reason. I want you to want to come with me."

"Well...I don't," Jimmy said sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Is it because of him?"

_Yes._

"No."

* * *

Jeffrey was in a foul mood for the rest of the day, from what Jimmy saw of him. Lady Anstruther kept having to interrupt him when she knew he was on the verge of saying something shocking. The Crawleys shot each other anxious looks. Mr. Anstruther had apparently lost his charm. Meanwhile Thomas was as nice as ever.

It was driving Jimmy insane.

When he went up to change Jeffrey for dinner, Jimmy found him brooding over a drink.

"Tell me what you like about him," Jeffrey said.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."

"Pull the other one," Jeffrey said dryly. "I knew you when you were a virgin. I deflowered you. What do you like about him?"

"I...I don't know," Jimmy groaned, leaning on the bed. "He's brave. Like you are. Very brave. And he's funny in a bit of a nasty way. I always like that. And he's so...kind. To me anyway. He's _so_ kind, I get angry 'cause he's got no call to be kind to me for what I've done. Then I act like a bastard and...the whole thing is a farce. He was followin' me around for a year like a bloody puppy. When all I did was act awful. It was pathetic and infuriating and...sweet. Sweet as bloody hell. And he's just... He's a good man is all."

Jeffrey sat back in his chair and took a sip of drink. He smirked. "And he's got a lovely mouth."

"And he's got a lovely mouth," Jimmy said, chuckling.

"What did you do that was so bad?"

Jimmy just shook his head. There weren't many things that he could imagine would turn Jefferey against him, but that sort of hypocrisy was one.

"Well, I don't blame you for liking him. _C'est la vie_." Jeffrey sat forward in his chair. Then he burst into tears.

_Oh no._

"Oh, damn it," Jimmy muttered, and kneeled in front of him. "I didn't think... We used to talk about blokes all the time. I fancied stupid Neddy while we were together and you didn't care. I'm sorry."

"It's not that," Jeffrey croaked, covering his face. "It's only..."

"What?"

He sniffed and fixed Jimmy with tragic eyes. "Jimmy, he'll have me committed."

"Oh..."

"Not in Vienna either. In London. For good. Unless I marry and give it all up-"

"Then get _married. _It's what's done_-_"

"NO!"

"Shhh!" Jimmy panicked and tried to cover Jeffrey's mouth. "Shhh. Keep it down."

Jeffrey clutched at him, as if for dear life. "I can't. I can't live like that. I won't live a lie. It's fine for other men who don't mind ladies. I'm not like that. I don't care what _you_ do, I can't do it. I'll die first-"

"Don't say that-"

"But don't you understand? That's why I've got to go away. But I can't do it alone."

"But what about Agatha? She'd never stand for it."

"She thinks I'll give in." Jefferey sniffed and shook his head. "But I won't. I can't, Jimmy. Not ever."

"Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't be any good," Jimmy said. His heart ached. "I wouldn't know how to look after you. I never did know how. I was only ever good when it was easy."  
"No, no, it was better when you were around-"

"It was better when you were better-"

"Please, _please_... They won't let me paint. They'll put me in a dull white room forever. Or if you won't go with me, if you talked to my father-"

"Talk to your _father_?" Jimmy stood up. Now he did feel sick. "Is that a joke?"

"If we stood up to him. Together. If we got auntie on our side-"

"I can't just talk to your father. He'd kill me on sight or call the police."

"But...but if it were two against one, if we-"

"I _can't_. Jeffrey, I can't."

There was a soft knock at the door. It was Anna. Everyone was waiting for Mr. Anstruther.

"I'm afraid Mr. Anstruther's taken ill," Jimmy said. "I'm just goin' to put him to bed."

She accepted this and left.

Jimmy knelt down by him again. "Go to Agatha. She'll talk him out of it-"

"She won't..."

"Oh, don't cry. I hate it when you cry," Jimmy muttered. "Come on, love. Chin up. There's got to be somethin'... Maybe you should go on your own. America's not so bad. Or Berlin, if ya like. Agatha would probably give you some money if you asked. Enough to get by anyway."

He was scrambling and he knew it. Jeffrey would never go by himself.

Jeffrey sniffed and cleared his throat. He sat back in his chair, gripping the arms and stared straight ahead. "I'm not leaving Downton until you agree to come with me. Either to go away or to help me talk to my father."

Jimmy sighed heavily. "Jeffrey...love. I can't do it. This is my life now. After everything with your father, I can't get all tangled up in it again. I almost _did_ get tangled up in it again. I-"

"This is your life?" Jeffrey snapped. "Living like a monk and pining after a butler you'll never touch because you're too afraid?"

Jimmy huffed and turned away. "I'll talk to Agatha. I'll try to get her on your side if-"

"It's not enough. Berlin or my father. Pick one."

"No."

"Then I'm not leaving."

There was a decent chance he wouldn't; that the Crawleys would literally have to pry him out of his chair to get him out.

"It wouldn't work me runnin' off with you," Jimmy said slowly. "And I can't talk to your father and you know why."

"Because you're scared of an old man? That monster raised me and I'm not even afraid of him. I just don't want to live in a cell. But I need help."

"Yes, alright? I am afraid! Of going to prison or-"

"_Coward_."

Jimmy had a terrible thought. A terrible awful thought that would fix everything. It would fix everything for him anyway.

"I'll tell you what happened," Jimmy said quietly. "With Thomas. With Mr. Barrow. I'll tell you and then you won't want my help."

"Then I don't want to hear it-"

"I thought you hated lies."

Jimmy sat on the bed and started talking.

* * *

It worked like a charm and Jimmy felt dead inside. He told Jeffrey how Thomas had made advances and he hadn't liked it, but he'd let it happen for a chance at first footman. He told Jeffrey how he'd almost destroyed Thomas's life; how he'd demanded there be no reference, and threatened to call the police. Jeffrey had never looked at him with such hatred as he did at that point in the story. Jimmy told him every bit of it.

When he was done, Jefferey's only response was, "We'll be leaving in the morning, I think."

He looked done in.

They'd be missing Jimmy serving at dinner. He could only hope they'd understand that Mr. Anstruther had "taken ill." But he did manage to find Lady Anstruther by herself when dinner was done and begged a word with her. Agatha adored her Jefferey. She was forgiving about his lifestyle. She also knew that Jefferey and Jimmy had been "friendly." They snuck into the library alone and Jimmy pled Jefferey's case.

"You can't let him be committed," Jimmy said. "I beg you. He'll do something desperate. But he'll never agree to getting married."

She smiled kindly at him. "I understand your concern," she said. "But you know how impetuous he is. Obstinate. Jeffrey's the heir. It's his duty and he knows that deep down. He'll say he won't get married, but given the choice-"

"No, my lady. Honestly, I don't think he will."

She looked around as if someone might hear through the walls. "We'll find him a nice understanding girl who'll look the other way-"

"It's not _about_ that-"

She went so far as to take his hand in hers. "Jimmy, try not to worry. I know you care for him. He'll never go back to that horrid place in London. And he's _certainly_ not running off by himself. I promise you. He'll come around."

"I don't know..." Jimmy shook his head.

"Listen to me," Lady Anstruther said calmly. "The worst that could happen is that Jeffrey will go away to London for a short time. It's a battle of wills between them. I can't imagine that Jeffrey's father would put the their of his estate in an asylum indefinitely. It's absurd. He's trying to call Jeffrey's bluff."

"Maybe. Maybe," Jimmy said. "But I don't think he'd go back to that place for a day. It's the principal of the thing for him. It _always_ is."

She squeezed his hand again. "I'll take care of him. I promise you. And I don't go back on my word."

They left in the morning and the Crawleys were understanding and gracious. It wasn't hard to see that Jeffrey was out of sorts. He didn't spare Jimmy a glance when they said their goodbyes in front of the house. But he was pleasant enough to Lady Mary and the others. Jimmy wanted to cry. It was an impossible situation. But Jeffrey had been his best friend and his lover for all the years he'd worked in Lady Anstruther's house. He'd come of age with Jeffrey. You couldn't recreate that feeling with anyone else.

They'd work it out, Jimmy told himself. Maybe he would marry. Stranger things had happened. Maybe someday the married couple would visit. He'd end up with a girl who understood things. Jeffrey would roll his eyes and say how she teased him about his men but she was awfully good at Bridge. It might all work out.

But when he watched the car drive away he had a terrible feeling.

* * *

Autumn turned to winter. Jimmy wrote apologetic letters to Jeffrey that he posted himself whenever he was given a chance to go to the village. He never heard back. He didn't hear back from Neddy either. Jeffrey had probably told him not to write as well. He considered writing directly to Lady Anstruther. It wouldn't exactly be proper.

Meanwhile Thomas acted nothing but pleasant and if he noticed that Jimmy let his hand rest very near his on the table or let his gaze linger too long, he never said anything. They chatted and laughed together, except for the times when Jimmy would snap at him out of nowhere because he'd fallen to thinking about all he wanted and couldn't bear to ask for.

Christmas and New Year's came and went. Dour affairs. The absence of both Mr. Crawley and Lady Sybil was like a leviathan in the great hall that no one would speak of. But everyone remarked on how lovely Jimmy and Lady Rose had looked dancing together at the servants' ball.

One January morning, Jimmy was serving tea to Lord and Lady Grantham. Lady Grantham went back and forth between needlework and Darjeeling, once in a while throwing out the name of some gentleman she imagined might be a prospect for Lady Mary, whenever she was ready. Lord Grantham was reading a letter. Jimmy was standing still in the corner, and bored as all bloody hell.

Lord Grantham said suddenly, "Oh... Oh my God, how ghastly."

"Robert, what is it?" Lady Grantham said, looking up in alarm.

"It's from Rosamund... Terrible news about the Anstruthers."

Jimmy's ears pricked up.

Lord Grantham said, "Jeffrey Anstruther's died."

Jimmy didn't start. Didn't blink. He heard the words. Abstractly.

"Oh dear Lord, " Lady Grantham said. "What happened?"

"Well, he was to be committed. I knew he was a bit touched but... And it's quite terrible. He offed himself, I'm afraid."

"You're wrong," Jimmy said, and took a step forward. He'd broken a cardinal rule of service.

They both looked up at him and Lord Grantham paled. "Oh, dear. Oh, James, I'm so sorry. Of course, you knew him quite well. I'm so sorry, my dear boy to have-"

"You're wrong, it's not true. It can't be."

Lord Grantham stood and came to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's true, James. I'm so..." He handed him the letter. "You may read this, if you want to. I'm going to fetch Carson-"

"No, no, I'll go myself, I'll go..." Jimmy babbled, not even aware of what words were coming out of his mouth. "I'll..."

He left the room, dumbly holding the letter. His brain had blanked out. A white sheet.

In the hallway he stood and read it. The words swam and squirmed around the page.

_...a most tragic thing..._

_ ...Lady Anstruther is beside herself..._

_ ...never did get along with his father..._

_ ...shot himself before he was to leave for the asylum..._

Lord Grantham was speaking. "Let's take care of you, James."

Suddenly he was sitting at the servants' hall table in front of a cup of tea. He didn't know how he'd got there. Lord Grantham's voice echoed in the hallway. That was odd for him to be in the downstairs. He'd found Thomas.

"He's not absorbed it," Lord Grantham was saying. "It's a terrible shock..."

Jimmy stood, the letter in his hand. No, but this was stupid. No...

He couldn't breathe and headed towards the yard. He wasn't wearing a coat, just his livery, and outside there was snow. He wandered out into the bitter cold and read the letter again.

._..shot himself before he was to leave for the asylum..._

He muttered, "No, but...no..."

He heard Jeffrey's voice in his head; pleading, his eyes red and raw. That deceptively innocent smile. His painting. His daring. His heart. Everything that was Jeffrey now gone. "No..."

Jimmy stumbled to the back gate, as if trying to escape the words. Clutching the icy green wood, he dry heaved, bent over, until his chest ached. But it wouldn't stop. He stumbled and fell to his knees in the snow. "No..."

He clutched at the ground, the jolt of iciness somehow made the truth real in his brain, like waking up from a dream.

_He's dead._

_ He's gone._

"No..."

He couldn't stop saying it. If he kept saying it, it would all go away.

He didn't know how long he knelt there.

"Jimmy," Thomas said quietly. Where had Thomas come from? "Come on. Come on inside."

Thomas helped Jimmy to his feet. Jimmy stared at him. Thomas looked ever so grave. That made it more real. He didn't like that all. He wished Thomas would smile suddenly like it was all a joke.

"His Lordship told me what's happened," Thomas said dully.

"Jeffrey's gone," Jimmy said. "Mr. Barrow, he's gone."

"I know. I...I'm sorry." He gestured towards the house. "Come on inside now. You'll catch your..."

Jimmy shook his head and turned away, leaning against the gate for support. He thought he might fall down again. Everything was white and silent around Downton. It had been a particularly heavy snow lately. Every tree was a stark black skeleton on a canvas.

Jimmy glanced back at Thomas, fumbling for his hand. He didn't even think about it. When he had it, he held it tight as if afraid he might drop it in the snow and the hand would be lost. Thomas's fingers were cold, but his glove was warm.

A sob choked him and he raised his other hand in a fist to his mouth, crumpling up the letter. "Thomas..." He croaked.

Thomas dropped all pretense and sighed. "Oh, bloody hell," Thomas muttered. "I don't know what to say. I wish I did."

A few tears fell but Jimmy swallowed it all back down, like shoving a rock down his throat. "He shot himself."

"I know."

"I can't feel it's true. I don't understand," Jimmy said, abruptly coherent and sounding like his usual self. He sniffed. "The letter said... And it's likely. With Jeffrey. It's likely. He'd tried it once before. I _know_ it's true. I can feel it but I can't. At the same time. That's strange."

"You were close."

"Yes. A... little." Another lurch of a sob crawled up throat and he coughed and sniffed. It was hard to speak. It took him a moment. "I don't want to go back just yet. They'll be talkin' about it. Alfred..."

"I'll stay here with you. If you want, or I can go-"

"No, don't go. Please?" He held fast to Thomas's hand. They stood there awkwardly for a long minute. "I just have to..."

_I could've helped him. I could've helped him and I didn't._

He felt nauseous again. Thomas might wonder why he was this upset. Everyone might wonder. He ought to keep it to himself. He felt doubly guilty that he was even worried about such a thing. He let go of Thomas's hand and wiped his eyes.

"Take the day, if you need," Thomas said. "I'll tell the others not to gossip. If Alfred says a thing, I'll put him through a window."

Jimmy nodded. "Yes. I'll go in now, yes."

"Look, I know it's rubbish to you, but... I'm here if you need me. For anything. Even if it's just to bring tea." Thomas spoke lowly, staring at the ground.

_Stop being nice to me. Can't you see I as good as killed him?_

"Yes, no. I'm fine. I'll be fine." Jimmy nodded again and made for the house, the letter still crumpled in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** Enjoy your Angst Crumpets.

**Chapter 2**: Broke

Thomas had never been known as an empathetic sort, but when he found Jimmy on his knees in the snow, prostrate with grief, he couldn't remember having been that heartbroken for another person before. The thought had occurred to him during Mr. Anstruther's visit: There's something more between them. But he'd put that down to hoping for a change in Jimmy's affections. He'd imagined that they had been close friends. It made sense. Lady Anstruther had mentioned that James started working for her when he was sixteen and Mr. Anstruther was the same age. Young people tended to cling to each other, propriety be damned. Now though...he did wonder. It had not escaped his notice that Jimmy had referred to him as Jeffrey, and not Mr. Anstruther.

Jimmy did take the rest of the day and Thomas didn't see him. He didn't come down to eat. It was just as well. Mr. Anstruther's scandalous demise was all the others wanted to talk about at dinner, albeit in hushed voices.

"It's an awful tragedy," Bates said, sighing. "He was a pleasant fellow."

Thomas tried to sum up some aggravation towards Mr. Bates, but there was none to be had and he just wasn't in the mood.

Anna said, "I don't think it's true that you go to hell if ya commit suicide."

Thomas rose an eyebrow at this. He suspected she felt a little differently when it came to Bates' first wife, but maybe she took these things on a case by case basis.

Bates went on, "I suppose if you're troubled enough to take your own life, that's punishment enough."

All this had brought up thoughts of Lieutenant Courtney. But he suspected that for Jimmy, this was an entirely different level of pain.

Thomas nodded at Alfred and said, "Check in on Jimmy after dinner, would you?"

"Sure, I will. He's right broken up about Mr. Anstruther, isn't he?" Alfred said.

"They knew each other a long time," Thomas said. "Take a plate up and see if he'll take it. And tea."

"Yes, Mr. Barrow."

He would've done it himself, but it wasn't as if they were best mates. He didn't want Jimmy to feel he was crowding him. Thomas poked at his stew. He'd been pretty surprised when Jimmy had grabbed his hand. But any port in a storm, he supposed.

Alfred was saying to Anna, "Do you think Mr. Anstruther did it because he, you know..." Alfred had caught Thomas's gaze and trailed off. "Never mind."

It wasn't an unfair question. Thomas didn't know the particulars, but he'd be willing to bet a quid or two that Mr. Anstruther's proclivities had something to do with it.

Thomas fixed Alfred with a frank expression. "Maybe he did," Thomas said. "But he was touched in the head as well and who knows what. We shouldn't speculate."

"Quite right, Mr. Barrow," Bates said. "It's morbid of us."

Alfred said to Thomas, "Would you ever...? I don't mean because..."

"Alfred!" Anna elbowed him in the ribs.

_Oh, Alfred._ Why bother kicking something with zero defenses? He hadn't the stomach for it anymore.

"No, Alfred," Thomas said. "Somebody might off me, but I think too well of myself for that."

That brought a bit of a chuckle to the table.

Later Thomas was at the servants' table, smoking, when Alfred came down with a tray full of food. "He wouldn't take it then?" Thomas said.

"I don't know," Alfred said. "I haven't asked him yet."

"Why not?"

"Well, I mean...he's cryin'. I could heard it. Didn't seem right to bother him."

It was hard to picture Jimmy Kent crying alone in his room. "Just knock and if he won't answer, leave it at the door."

Alfred balanced the tray with one hand and scratched his ear. "Aaah... It's so uncomfortable. I don't think he'd like it."

"You don't think he'd like it 'cause you can't be bothered," Thomas snapped. He put out his cigarette and stood, taking the tray. "Fat lot of good you are."

Upstairs Thomas knocked gently on Jimmy's door. There were muffled sounds inside. "Jimmy? I'm leavin' some dinner and tea outside at the door if you want it. I won't bother you." He heard footsteps approach the door and they stopped. Silence. Thomas set the tray on the floor and went to his room.

The next morning, Jimmy came to breakfast perfectly composed though not his usual cocky if sometimes churlish self. Thomas actively tried not to hover. Sometimes when he pressed, Jimmy bit back as if that conversation after the fair had never happened. For the rest of the day, Jimmy did his job well but said little. Even Lord Grantham seemed a tad concerned. Thomas got the impression he still felt guilty for blurting out the news so bluntly.

Thomas caught Jimmy alone in the library and couldn't stop himself asking, "Are you doing alright?"

"Fine, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said sternly. "I just worked for him is all."

This wasn't Thomas's area. He didn't push. He said nothing more about it, but he worried. Jimmy's thousand yard stare stayed in place for days. He walked around like an animated corpse and Thomas never saw him smile. When he wasn't dead-eyed, he was nasty. People were starting to get impatient with him, even Alfred. Thomas didn't think they realized it had anything at all do with Mr. Anstruther's death. To them it was the tragic demise of an employer. But then, they had not been nitpicking Jimmy Kent as a general hobby for the last year and a half.

There was one strange moment when Thomas found Jimmy in the silver room to let him know that the family was eating at Crawley House for dinner.

Jimmy blurted, "Mr. Barrow..."

"Yes?" Thomas looked up to see Jimmy with desperate and pleading eyes. "Jimmy, what is it?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Nothin'. Sorry."

It went on for weeks. But never again did Thomas see Jimmy open up the way he'd done while still in the first shocks of receiving that terrible news, standing in the snow and holding Thomas's hand. Sometimes Thomas thought of another odd moment when Anstruther had visited; in the attic when Thomas had been certain for a mad second that Jimmy was about to kiss him there in the darkness. Later he thought he'd imagined it.

Things reached a head one afternoon in the kitchen. Daisy was babbling on and on about Mr. Mason's farm, and how pretty it was in winter. She was saying she wished she knew a painter who could do it justice, when out of nowhere Jimmy bit her head off.

"Will you shut up about the bloody farm, Daisy! No one's interested in that sodding old man and your stupid bloody-"

"James!' Mrs. Patmore looked so angry she might've caught on fire. Thomas watched from the doorway. "There's no call for that! What's got into you?"

Jimmy was red-faced and clenching his fists. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore," he muttered.

"It's Daisy you ought to be apologizing to."

But Daisy looked just as worried as Thomas. "It's alright, Mrs. Patmore," she said quietly. "He didn't mean it."

Daisy and Thomas exchanged a look that boggled Thomas's mind. How had Daisy caught on, of all people?

_A savant, that one_, he thought.

"Jimmy, can I have a word?" He said.

Jimmy's jaw twitched, he looked like he might either burst into tears or put his fist through a wall at any moment. They went to Mrs. Hughes' office, because she was off in Ripon. Thomas closed the door.

"Are you alright?" Thomas said.

"_Yes_. Stop askin' me."

Thomas was taken aback. He'd specifically not asked after Jimmy for at least a week. He'd just observed and tried to be friendly but not overbearing.

"I haven't been ask-"

"You think I don't know why you're so bloody nice?" Jimmy snapped.

"Because we're friends, I hope," Thomas said, uncertain.

"Friends," Jimmy huffed. "We'll never be friends. We're not friends. You followin' me around like a lap dog, it's ridiculous. Getting your face pummeled over _me_? Everyone sees it, ya know. Everyone sees it."

Thomas frowned. Jimmy was practically vibrating with anger. He had no idea how to handle it. Not to mention which; it did _hurt_. All of it.

"All anyone sees is that we get along now," Thomas said. "Have I done anything to-"

"Yes! Yes, you have. You're so bloody nice all the time, I can't breathe." Jimmy apparently meant that literally, because he was loosening his tie. "It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Just stop bein' so bloody nice to me. Just stop it, Thomas."

His voice broke at the end as he left the room.

Thomas stopped being nice to Jimmy. Not that he was mean. But he kept his distance as much as he possibly could even as it ate away at him. He avoided sitting next to Jimmy at meals and only spoke to him when he absolutely had to and even then in a professional and impersonal tone. It didn't seem to help Jimmy any. Thomas knew, because he couldn't help but pay attention if nothing else.

One morning Jimmy got a letter.

Thomas wouldn't have thought anything of it, but hapless Alfred was able to read the envelope as it was passed over the table and said, "From Lady Anstruther?"

Thomas didn't move but his eyes followed Jimmy as he got up from the table and left the room.

"Good work, Alfred," Thomas said with a sigh.

"What've I done?" Alfred said.

"Bet you wake up every morning askin' yourself that."

Thomas didn't see Jimmy again until late afternoon. He went up to his room to change his shirt because he'd spilled wine on his livery when Mr. Carson knocked into him in the kitchen. When he passed Jimmy's room he saw the door wide open and Jimmy standing at his window. Thomas paused in the doorway, inwardly debating. Jimmy sniffed. Catching him out at such a moment would only be met with anger again. Thomas turned to go and his shoe squeaked. He saw Jimmy's head jerk slightly, but he didn't turn around.

Minutes later, in his room, he heard footsteps at his own door. The knob turned and Thomas took a step forward, pulling a fresh shirt over his head. The knob turned back and after a pregnant pause, there were footsteps again fading into silence.

Thomas let it pass.

As much as he was idiotically fond of Jimmy, he dreaded the thought of offering friendly support. He had no skill at comforting people. He'd tried with Courtney and that had ended in blood and tears. The realization made him wonder if he shouldn't stay away from Jimmy altogether. He'd be better off for it.

That evening Isis got loose. She was an old dog now; slower but less well-behaved. When Thomas found himself sent to the snowy woods with Jimmy in the bitterly cold winter night, he decided it was Isis' revenge for having hidden him in the shed all that time ago.

_Maybe the most purely stupid thing I've ever done_, Thomas thought. He glanced at Jimmy and quickly changed his mind. _Well, almost._

Thomas held a lantern as they separated from the others and called out for Isis. Or rather, Thomas called out for Isis. Jimmy stayed quiet, brooding and dour. He kept glaring at Thomas as if all this was his fault. Thomas had a silly urge to tell him that, honestly, he had not hidden the dog this time.

Thomas muttered, "If this dog dies on top of everything else, the Crawley'll..." He'd been about to say the Crawleys would kill themselves and thought better of it.

Jimmy said nothing. They trudged through the woods for ten minutes searching for the blasted dog before Thomas blurted out, "I hate seeing you like this."

_Well done, Thomas_, he thought. _Might as well write him a love letter._

He hadn't intended to speak at all. He didn't want Jimmy to call him pathetic again. He didn't think he could stomach it.

"I don't know what you mean," Jimmy said. His breath steamed in the dark.

Thomas decided to take that as a question. "I see that you're tryin' to carry on," he said. "I understand that. It's admirable. But... It's not as if there's anything shameful about being sad a friend's died."

"You don't know anything," Jimmy said. "Just shut up about it."

"Right." Thomas used his aggravation to shout, "IIIIIISIS!"

Jimmy was glowering at the ground. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself and crossed his arms.

Jimmy said, "He was..." Thomas looked up in surprise, waiting for him finish. But Jimmy just stared off into the trees. His cheeks were red from the cold.

"He was what?" Thomas took a chance.

Jimmy stopped walking and leaned against a tree. He shook his head and sniffed. He seemed to be fighting with himself about something. "Look... Look, I'm not like you."

Thomas frowned at him. "I know that. I'm not sayin'-"

"_No_. I mean I'm not brave. I'm not brave like you, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas shivered in the cold and racked his brain for what Jimmy could be referring to. He'd called Thomas brave after the fair. A high point of Thomas's life so far. But what did that have to do with anything?

Thomas said, "What do you-"

"I could've helped him," Jimmy said brokenly. "I could've helped and..."

"It wasn't your fault," Thomas said. "If that's what your thinking."

Jimmy shook his head. "You don't understand. I know people blame themselves sometimes, but it _was_. It was_ actually _my fault_." _Jimmy turned his face away. "The problem is I'm a coward. Jeffrey said that himself and he were right." Jimmy sniffed again and covertly wiped his eyes.

"But he wasn't," Thomas argued. "You're not a coward. Not to me."

"But you don't know me," Jimmy insisted. "You ought to hate me. You shouldn't be so kind. You should hate me."

"Why?"

"_Because_..."

Thomas sighed and toed at the snow with his boot. The snow was thick and even through the soles of his boots, his feet were going numb. "Look, whatever it is... I won't tell anyone. And I won't hate you. I promise."

Jimmy said quietly, "We were... Jeffrey and I were..."

"You were together," Thomas finished for him.

Jimmy finally looked at him, his eyes frightened. "Yes."

"Romantically."

"Yes."

Thomas nodded. He had considered it. More than he'd wanted to admit to himself. So it wasn't as shocking as it might've been. "I'm sorry then."

Somehow that made Jimmy nearly break down and the turned away again. "Why? Why? Why should you be sorry? You _should_ hate me." He whipped around and shoved Thomas back, almost knocking him off his feet into the snow. "You should hate me. Why are you so kind?"

Instead he said, "I-I don't... I don't know. I'm just sorry that...you're hurt. I wish I could do something."

Jimmy shoved him again and Thomas fell back against a tree that knocked snow into his hair. "I'm sorry you're hurt, Jimmy" he said again.

Jimmy clutched his coat and Thomas braced himself reflexively, waiting for a punch in the face. Then Jimmy was furiously kissing Thomas, pressing him into the tree. Thomas froze up but when he felt Jimmy's tongue touch his, he broke away.

"Jimmy-"

"You said you wished there was something you could do," Jimmy said, his eyes red. He pressed into Thomas again, harder. Their coats were open and Thomas could feel Jimmy through his trousers. "Please, Thomas. _Please_."

Jimmy ground against him and he gasped, shutting his eyes as Jimmy kissed him again. They were rutting against each other and didn't even notice Isis until he was scratching at Thomas's leg.

Thomas and Jimmy were hailed as heroes when they returned to the house with the dog in tow. Thomas didn't feel like a hero. He couldn't even look at Jimmy. Jimmy wouldn't look at him either. They didn't speak for the rest of the evening. Thomas cursed himself. All the good will he'd taken so long to build up was now gone with one moment of weakness.

Getting ready for bed, he could almost physically feel dread settling on his shoulders. He'd taken advantage of Jimmy at the worst possible time. He would likely never speak to Thomas again.

Thomas took a snort of the whiskey he kept stashed in his bureau and smoked, brooding, sitting on his bed. By the time the door opened and Jimmy appeared without a shirt on, he was drunk. He truly thought he'd fallen asleep and was dreaming even as Jimmy shut the door and crossed the room with purpose. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Thomas almost as if he'd expected it to be there and took a long swallow, then set it on the floor before straddling Thomas on the bed.

"Jimmy," Thomas said. "Jimmy, wait. We shouldn't... We should..."

He couldn't think straight. His brain was buzzing with drink. This was wrong. All wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. But Jimmy was sitting on him. Thomas could _feel_ him. And he smelled so bloody good.

"Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop," Jimmy said. "But you have to mean it."

Thomas took far too long to answer and Jimmy was pulling off his shirt and kissing him, then pushing him back on the bed.

It wasn't sweet and lovely, the way Thomas had always fantasized. Jimmy was hungry. Thomas could feel desperation in the fingers that dug into his flesh. It was still good. At least for a few fleeting moments, after Jimmy had rolled him over and drove into him like he just couldn't get deep enough. Thomas brought himself off as Jimmy came with a stifled grunt. When he was done, Jimmy pulled up his trousers and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

Thomas sat up and reached out for his shoulder. "Jimmy..."

Jimmy rose and left the room without a word.

In the morning, Thomas was just a little hung over. The events of the night returned to him and he hesitated going down to breakfast. But Jimmy acted as if nothing had happened; not the sex or his fit in the woods. He was his usual self, or at least usual for what he'd been like lately. He was punchy and politely dismissive of Thomas. Thomas took this as a clear signal that the night before had been an aberration and he brooded all day and snapped at Daisy. The pitch of her voice suddenly seemed unbearable. He had pined for Jimmy Kent for a year and a half, only to have his illusions blown with one ugly fuck.

But that night, just as he was about to finally climb into bed, Jimmy returned. Thomas didn't have the excuse of drunkenness anymore, and he still let Jimmy yank his shirt off and bite his neck. When he was on top of Thomas this time, he clawed at Thomas's back.

The next morning Thomas caught a look in the mirror and saw thin red stripes where Jimmy's nails had been.

It wasn't every night, but it did became a regular habit. When Jimmy came to his room, it was always at a particular time. So when that time passed, Thomas at least knew he wouldn't be coming.

_Punctual of him_, Thomas thought wryly.

But he did come a lot, and he said very little.

He left bruises, bite marks, and scratches.

Mrs. Hughes noticed a purpling bruise on his wrist one day and asked Thomas how he'd gotten hurt.

"I was moving furniture," Thomas said.

Being bent over the foot of the bed under Jimmy as he clutched Thomas's arms with a grip like steel clamps was sort of like moving furniture.

He never told Jimmy to stop that sort of thing. But when it was over, Thomas always felt worse, and worse still after he left.

Jimmy didn't always leave immediately. Thomas noticed that after every visit, he stuck around a little bit longer, silently smoking next to him on the bed. Sometimes he stood and wandered around the room, fidgeting with Thomas's things.

Thomas was generally afraid that if he said a word about Jeffrey Anstruther, Jimmy might throw a fit. But they had started to get comfortable.

One night he tried his luck and disrupted the quiet, saying, "You know, you could tell me about him. If you want to. It wouldn't bother me."

"I don't want to talk about _that_," Jimmy said with a snort.

Thomas let it go. A week later Jimmy fucked him up against his bureau, but twenty minutes later he was resting his head on Thomas's chest in the bed and said, "This is the only time I feel right."

"How do you usually feel?" Thomas said.

"Just...wrong," he murmured. "All wrong."

Thomas couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't involve the forbidden talk of Anstruther and instead stroked Jimmy's hair.

_I'd love you if you allowed it_, he thought. _But then I'm pathetic._

He stayed in Thomas's arms for an hour that night, but said nothing else. Thomas started to hope. Which turned out to be foolish. Because he stayed away for a week after that and was even more cantankerous than usual during the day, earning more than one lecture from Mr. Carson. The night he finally showed up, he walked in without knocking. Thomas was smoking and doodling into a notebook on his bed. He didn't come to Thomas immediately. Instead he stood with his arms crossed, glaring.

"You've never asked why I lied," he said accusingly.

Thomas rose to put his notebook away in the bureau and frowned around his cigarette. "What?"

"Oh, you know, that time I almost destroyed your life?" Jimmy said it almost as if were Thomas's crime. "I pretended I wasn't exactly like you. I said I was _disgusted _and you act like it's nothin'. I said I would call the police."

"I guess... I assume something happened," Thomas said, shutting a drawer. "With Anstruther. Something that made you frightened."

Jimmy strode up to him and he put out his cigarette. "What does that matter? You still ought to hate me."

"Well, I don't."

Jimmy slapped him full across the face. Thomas's head jerked back in surprise. Jimmy slapped him again and Thomas absorbed the blow, but his blood was rising. When Jimmy made to hit him a third time, Thomas grabbed his wrist.

"Stop being _kind_," Jimmy bit out.

_Alright._

Thomas shoved Jimmy against the wall and yanked down his trousers to writhe against him. Jimmy was wearing only a thin shirt for pajamas and Thomas ripped it open in one long tear down his back.

"Is this what you want then," he breathed. He bit into Jimmy's arm. Jimmy didn't answer but he raked his nails along the wall as Thomas clawed at his back and jammed a finger into him. "Is_ this_ what you want?"

"Yes," Jimmy said shakily.

It wasn't the answer Thomas wanted. But he still pulled Jimmy roughly so that he spun around and shoved his head towards the floor before pulling him down and climbing on top of him. Thomas struggled out of his own trousers and thrust into him. Jimmy grunted and gasped, pounding his fist into the rug. Thomas dug his nails into Jimmy's back and bore into Jimmy, who's hard prick was likely pressing into the floor.

"I _hate _you then," he said, panting. "I bloody well hate you."

Jimmy started to raise his head and Thomas shoved it down again.

"Bloody stupid boy," Thomas gasped.

Jimmy gripped the edge of the rug in his fists before coming with a groan. Thomas followed and pulled out, stumbling to his feet and pulling up his trousers.. He couldn't move fast enough and lit another cigarette with trembling hands, facing away into the corner.

Jimmy lay spent on the floor.

"Go then," he said. "Get out of here."

Jimmy slowly rose to his feet, pulled up his trousers, and was barely out the door before Thomas started to cry.

The next day Jimmy seemed almost cheerfully angry, taking every opportunity to be rude to Thomas in front of everyone. Thomas imagined they were wondering when the truce had ended. He was flirtatious with poor Ivy. Thomas didn't even know what that was supposed to mean.

"You're looking poorly today, Mr. Barrow," he said in the kitchen. "Are you having trouble with the hall boys?"

Mrs. Patmore understood the innuendo and rose her eyebrows. Alfred and Daisy just looked confused. Thomas ignored him.

But in the hallway he stopped Jimmy and whispered, "I'm not playing this game with you."

"You were playing it last night," Jimmy said, smirking. "I should know. My arse still smarts."

Thomas shook his head. He felt sick about the whole thing. "It didn't have to be this way with us-"

"Oh, pull the other one," Jimmy sneered. "This is what you always wanted."

"Not _this_, Jimmy." His throat felt like it would close up. Mr. Carson came around the corner and he took a step back. "Never this."

He mainly felt sick with himself. He couldn't seem to stop it. Jimmy was like a drug. As bad as cigarettes.

At dinner, Jimmy almost got into real trouble. His saving grace was that Mr. Carson was wrapped up in something with Mrs. Hughes at the end of the table.

Anna was going on and on about some new dress Lady Rose was having made. Jimmy jumped right in and said, "We ought to get her seamstress to get somethin' for Mr. Barrow. He likes to dash about in a dress, I'm told."

Both Anna and Bates were so shocked their mouths hung open like fish. Weirdly, it was Alfred that saved the moment while Thomas seethed and glared at Jimmy.

"Oh, I'd look better in a dress than Mr. Barrow, I think," Alfred said lightly. "I'd wear Patmore's frock. Quite comfy lookin'."

Bates and Anna laughed, more with relief than amusement. Thomas saw Alfred elbow Jimmy hard in the ribs after that and say, "What the matter with you?"

After dinner, Anna found him. She looked stern. "You can't let him talk to you like that, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas sighed. "It's not... He doesn't meant i," Thomas said. "Exactly."

In fact, Thomas had no idea whether Jimmy meant it or not.

"You're senior over him," she said. "It isn't right. Even if you weren't senior... Still isn't right the way he's gone on today. I know you're fond of him, but you ought to take him to task. He can't think he's got one over on you."

She didn't wait for him to reply. But her words stuck in Thomas's mind.

When Jimmy showed up in his room that night, Thomas almost laughed at him. He suddenly felt very sure of himself.

"You must be joking," Thomas said when Jimmy ambled in, shirtless and acting as if everything was fine.

"Oh, what?" Jimmy snorted. "Because of dinner? I was _playing_."

"And I told you, I'm not. And I'm not havin' you tonight. Or...at all."

"You're turning _me_ out of your bed?" Jimmy said, chuckling. "Really. I'm heart-broken."

"You want me to hate you, then I guess you know what you're about," Thomas said, rubbing his eyes. "We should've stayed friends. If we ever _were_ friends. Crikey... Do you even like me at all?"

Thomas thought he saw a crack in the façade for a moment until Jimmy crossed his arms tight around himself and wore an expression of mock confusion. "I do apologize. Am I supposed to say, oh Thomas, it means so much to me? Shall I declare my undying love? Do you think this means _anything_ to me other than a decent buggering? That you mean anything? Do you think I would ever be in love with _you_?"

Thomas took it. He thought he did rather well not pushing over all the furniture and knocking Jimmy into it without the benefits of arousal.

He had never been less aroused by such an objectively attractive half-naked man.

"Bloody hell, Jimmy," Thomas said. "I only asked if you liked me."

"Because you're-"

"Pathetic," Thomas finished for him. "I know. The truth is, I only ever wanted you to think I was a good man. I don't feel like a good man when I'm with you."

Jimmy's face fell again, his eyes wide.

"Go back to your room and don't come back here," Thomas said. "If you want to speak to me, I might listen, but-"

"I don't want to speak to you," Jimmy snapped. "I don't want to speak to you, I don't need you. It's nothing."

"Then why are you still standing there?"

Jimmy left, slamming the door. Thomas heard Jimmy's door slam a moment later. Twice. Two minutes later Mr. Carson knocked wanting to know why there were doors slamming.

"I don't know. I've just been in here," Thomas said.

The day after that, Jimmy was civil and no longer rude, at least not to Thomas. But his thousand yard stare was back. Thomas tried not to pay attention. He treated Jimmy professionally. Jimmy didn't come to his room that night or the night after that. Thomas was both relieved and crushed. They didn't share cigarettes in the hall or play cards either.

The winter was bitterly cold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Good Men of Britain Chapter 3: Thaw**

Jimmy was sitting on Jeffrey Anstruther's bed, in Jeffrey Anstruther's room, which looked just the same as when they had been sixteen. The burgundy satin of the duvet was smooth under his fingers. He had held Jeffrey in his arms there countless times. The gold leaf wallpaper was the same, and the old black chaise where Jeffrey would sit sketching Jimmy. On an easel in the corner there was a half-finished painting of Jimmy all in swirls of grey. He didn't think it looked much like him.

Thomas sat across from him on the bed. Between them was a pile of tin toy soldiers from Jimmy's childhood. He was sure he'd lost them. Thomas was trying to set them up in a battle formation, but they kept falling down into the dip of the covers.

"I've got to teach you things," Thomas said wisely. "Battle strategies. I was in the war, you know."

"So was I," Jimmy said.

Jimmy didn't think it was odd that Jeffrey's room had no door. There was just a long hall extending from an open wall, except it wasn't Lady Anstruther's hallway. The rest of the house around them appeared to be Downton. Somewhere a bell kept ringing.

"You pushed papers in Bristol," Thomas reminded him. "I was in the trenches."

"But I was too," Jimmy insisted. Thomas laughed, ignoring him, and set the soldiers up in perfect lines.

Doors appeared in the hallway at the end of the room. Someone was pounding on all the doors at once.

"It's Jeffrey," Jimmy said. "I don't want to see him. I _was_ in the war. That's why I had to kill him."

"Wait, I have something for you," Thomas said, smiling sweetly.

Jimmy grinned at him. It wasn't even his birthday. Thomas took a white feather out of his pocket and handed it to Jimmy.

Then they were in the trenches. Jimmy couldn't remember being reassigned. Hadn't Agatha fixed things? He wasn't supposed to be in France. He was back in uniform, hunched beside Thomas in the mud as a deafening barrage of gunfire sounded over their heads.

Jimmy was scared. He had never been so scared. His gun wasn't even working.

"He's out there," Thomas shouted over the din. "We're going on a rescue mission."

"I can't," Jimmy said, as they ducked down, clutching their helmets to their heads. "My gun's not working."

"You've got another," Thomas insisted. "I gave it to you, don't you remember?"

Jimmy checked his pockets. All he found was the white feather.

Jeffrey's voice rang out over the roar of battle, begging for help.

Jimmy climbed the ladder to peak out over the trench. The front was dark but fire glowed along the horizon with the promise of approaching hell. Up ahead there was a line of barbed wire snaking across the battlefield. Jeffrey was there in a uniform; entangled in the wire. Dead and bloody. Jimmy felt the pain of his death all over again, but he could still hear Jeffrey calling.

Thomas was climbing out of the trench.

"What're you doing?" Jimmy cried. "He's dead already! It's too late!"

Thomas crouched on the ground; bullets flying over his head. "It's alright, I've already got the blighty," he said. "And you can never give me what I want."

Thomas disappeared into smoke and fire. He would die out there like Jeffrey. The walls of the trenches suddenly rose higher and higher. Jimmy would never be able to climb out and now he was alone with his white feather as the guns closed in.

"Thomas!" Jimmy wailed about the din. "Thomas, don't leave me here!"

Jimmy was having trouble sleeping. The nightmares weren't always precisely the same, but they all featured war, Jeffrey, and white feathers. Sometimes they were at Downton and there were tanks coming. Sometimes Jeffrey was there bringing men with guns behind him or knocking on the door of his room, screaming that Jimmy was a coward. Thomas always left or was killed Often he saw Thomas shot through the head right in front of his eyes. He would wake in the middle of the night or early in the morning feeling sick with dread. He started sleeping less and less. He smoked as much as Thomas did; sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking. Mrs. Hughes remarked on the dark circles under his eyes at breakfast.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Hughes," Jimmy mumbled.

Thomas must really have begun to hate him, because he didn't spare so much as a glance. Jimmy had asked for it. Now the dismissal made him never want to leave his room. It had been nearly a month since Thomas had thrown Jimmy out.

Days wore on. The pain of Jeffrey's death had dulled a little. But not the guilt.

Every other night or so, Jimmy stood behind his door, one hand on the knob, debating. Thomas had said had said it would be alright to talk. Of course, then Jimmy had shut him down.

He would stand for upwards of half an hour debating.

But fear kept him behind the door.

Lady Anstruther had written him a letter thanking him for his concern over Jeffrey and claiming it was all her fault for not listening to him. He hadn't written back. The extent of her misunderstanding felt like dead weight in his stomach. He started letters and threw them out.

_Dear Lady Anstruther,_

_ Your son's suicide is entirely my fault._

_ I wish I was dead too sometimes._

He waited for Thomas to say something. Because surely Thomas knew that Jimmy couldn't say anything. Couldn't he be met halfway at least?

_I didn't mean it._

The words were constantly on his lips.

_You must know I didn't mean it._

_ I just..._

He didn't know how that last sentence ended.

_I just everything, _he supposed.

He was afraid if he even tried to speak to Thomas all those hateful things would come spilling out again. Because Thomas really ought to now better than to love him. He thought about that all the time: when they served dinner to the family and Jimmy passed him, carrying the sauce; when Thomas sat smoking across the table, speaking easily to everyone else. He had thought it before Jeffrey and now it was exponentially multiplied.

_You can't love me. _

_ Please love me._

He was given an afternoon off and went to Ripon where he got drunk in a pub. On his way out of the house, Thomas had bumped into him and Jimmy had nearly blurted out a plea for company. But Thomas didn't want to see him and Jimmy didn't deserve to. In the pub, Jimmy sat sprawled over a table and watched as a couple of tartishly dressed women flirted with patrons. He wondered if they were prostitutes and didn't have to wonder anymore when a skinny redhead spilling out of a dress the color of peaches shoved him a little and took a seat on his knee.

"Hello there, love," she said brightly. "Will you buy me a drink?"

Jimmy blinked at her. She was pretty enough, he supposed. Prettier than Ivy anyhow. If that was some sort of standard.

"Of course," he mumbled. Perhaps that was the gentlemanly thing to do.

"What's your name, love?" The girl said, when he'd brought her a beer. "I'm Maggie."

Jimmy had no particular reason for saying, "Jeffrey. Me name's Jeffrey." He didn't really think about it. But it seemed like a fitting irony. Maggie claimed that Jeffrey was a nice name and chatted about the other louts in the pub and how he was the only true gentleman there. Even if he wasn't really a gentleman.

"You have lovely hair, Jeffrey." Maggie ran her hands through his hair and he summoned an artificial smile.

He suddenly wondered if he should try it with a woman. Just to see. He had kissed a couple of girls when he was young- before he'd taken up with Jeffrey. It hadn't been particularly exciting. But not disgusting either. It would just make things so much easier...

Besides all that, he was desperately alone.

"You look so sad, love," Maggie said. "Shall I cheer you up?"

He said, "Are you...?"

"Half a guinea," Maggie said. "I know a place we can go."

The place was a shed. By the time they finished their drinks it was getting dark and they had to walk a few blocks through the snow to get there. It wasn't exactly glamorous. Maggie made him wait by a tree to go in, instructing him to count ten and then follow. Jimmy started muttering numbers, his head spinning, and lost count a few times before he finished. In the shed Maggie had lit a lantern and she was already in her under-things. She put a hand on her hip. She had a mass of red curls tumbling over her shoulders.

"I don't often fancy a man who's prettier than me," she said, and batted her eyes, coquettish. "You certainly don't look like you need to be payin'."

"I don't want..." Jimmy shook his head. "I don't want to talk."

"Of course not," she said. She crossed her arms to slip the straps of her camisole off her shoulders.

"No, leave that on," Jimmy said. He strode forward and stood close to her, not quite sure of what he wanted. She smiled slyly.

"No fuss then," she muttered. She unbuttoned his trousers and her hand was on him.

Which hardly felt _bad_.

He shut his eyes as she stroked him, bracing his hands on the wall behind her. When he was good and hard, he turned her around and she pulled down her stockings and underwear. It took Jimmy too long a moment to remember that she probably wouldn't appreciate the fashion in which he was accustomed to having relations. He fumbled a bit with the mechanics of it all. Had he been less drunk, he would've been mortified. But he thrust into her; in a place that wouldn't earn him a punch in the mouth.

"Ah, _there_ you are," she said.

It wasn't awful. It wasn't much of anything. Though given his state, it might have only been marginally better had she been a man. He gripped her hips and pressed in.

It was taking too long. He was too drunk. His head hurt. He felt revolted at himself. Not for being with a woman, but for the way he was doing it. Finally, she pulled away from him and turned around, patting him on the cheek.

"I'll take care ya, don't ya worry. Never leave a customer unsatisfied."

"No," he started to argue. "I shouldn't have... I'm sorry."

She wouldn't listen and knelt in front of him.

"Aaaah..." Jimmy pounded the wall with his fist, shutting his eyes when her tongue wrapped around his prick. But it was no good. Too much whiskey. On top of everything else. "No..." He slumped down to his knees in front of her, clutching her shoulders. "It's not what I want."

He couldn't see straight. There were two or three Maggies. She looked confused and a little frightened.

"I don't do anythin' else," she said uncertainly. "You're soused is all. But I still get my money."

"Yeh," he said. He held onto her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I don't... I don't..."

"Are you alright, love?"

Jimmy nodded, but a sob came out of nowhere, choking him; the sort of violent tears that stick in the throat and hurt. He buried his head in Maggie's shoulder and she sighed, muttering obscenities. He couldn't contain himself and clutched her to him as he cried.

"It's alright." She patted his arm.

The begrudging gesture of affection startled him more than the sex and he pulled away from her, stumbling to his feet and sniffing. He buttoned up his trousers. He found some money in his pocket and gave her what he owed.

"Here, _go._" Jimmy said.

He took him nearly two hours to get back; stumbling in the dark through the snow and back to Downton. When he got there, Thomas barked at him from the servants' table. The ash tray in from him was spilling over.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Thomas said.

"What do you care?" Jimmy ignored him and trudged upstairs.

One evening he was playing solitaire as Alfred chatted with Anna and Bates about the war. It reminded him of his nightmares. He suddenly felt short of breath. His heart raced and his hands shook. He rose and rushed out to the yard, saying a few words about needing air. Outside he leaned against the wall and tried to compose himself. He closed his eyes but only saw Jeffrey entangled in barbed wire.

Thomas walked out from behind a stack of crates, smoking a cigarette. Jimmy grimaced and ducked his head, avoiding his gaze.

"What's the matter with you?" Thomas said, walking over. "You're pale. You're... What's the matter with you?"

Jimmy couldn't manage to speak. He slid down the wall to sit down. The ground was wet with snow. Thomas crouched down next to him, resting a hand on his arm. It was overwhelming. Everything was closing in. He shook his head and edged away.

"Don't..." Jimmy said, choking on the words. "Don't touch me."

"Are you having a _spell_?"

"F-Forget it," Jimmy stuttered. Hearts weren't supposed to beat this fast. It was like an attack. He heard a phantom gunshot in his head and shuttered. "Leave... Leave me be!"

"No, I bloody won't," Thomas muttered.

Jimmy couldn't breathe.

_Coward._

_ I have something for you._

Jimmy was tearing up; overcome. He hid his face.

"_Try_ to. Just breathe in slowly," Thomas said, putting out his cigarette. "Slowly now."

Jimmy tried to do as Thomas said. He parted his fingers. He didn't want to look into darkness and see Jeffrey dead or Thomas leaving him in trenches.

"Somethin' made you hysterical," Thomas said softly. "I've seen it before. When I was a medic. But there's no danger. Can you hear me?"

Jimmy nodded. He kept breathing slowly. He kept his eyes open, staring straight ahead, which meant he was staring at Thomas's shirt buttons. They seemed so neat and orderly.

"Your body thinks there's a danger and it wants to flee," Thomas said. "But there's no danger. You're safe, Jimmy. I'm right here."

It took him several minutes to feel better. But Thomas stayed there the whole time, assuring him the world wasn't collapsing. Even though it seemed like it was. He'd felt like he was about to die. When he was able to truthfully say he was alright, Thomas helped him to his feet. Jimmy stood, unsteady for a moment, realizing his cheeks were streaked with tears. He wiped his eyes and sniffed.

"I miss you," Jimmy croaked.

Thomas frowned and looked away at a pile of coal. "I haven't gone anywhere. I can be here for _this_. I'm always here for you. Just not that. It wasn't right." Thomas lit himself another cigarette and fixed Jimmy with a sardonic expression. "Besides, I thought it didn't mean anything." Jimmy couldn't seem to tear an answer from his throat and Thomas shook his head. "Never mind that now. Let's go inside, if you can?"

He almost wanted to argue again: _Stop being kind. You mustn't be so kind._

But he was too drained. He suddenly felt as if he could sleep for a week, nightmares or no.

Thomas smiled at him reassuringly as they walked back inside_. _Jimmy noticed Thomas walked ahead of him as they passed the others, shielding him from onlookers.

"Try to get some rest," Thomas said as Jimmy made his way upstairs.

In the morning, he was too embarrassed to even a hazard a look at Thomas, who didn't ask after him. He shouldn't have expected it. Jimmy had only slept for a couple of hours and in just that short a period had managed to dream that mustard gas was invading Downton as he cowered under the dining room table. When the gas had cleared he stood to see the whole room blanketed in white feathers.

Thomas volunteered to walk to one of the tenant farms to fetch a crate of jams as a gift to the Crawleys. Apparently the tenants owed the Crawleys and were being shown mercy. Mr. Carson ordered Jimmy to go along and he met Thomas's eyes briefly. He found he was relieved to have an excuse just to be around him.

It was like searching for Isis all over again as they trudged through snow and twice as tense. They spoke little and only civilly. Jimmy could hardly blame Thomas and he argued with himself.

_It's for his own good_, he thought. _You don't deserve someone like him, you bloody coward._

They crossed a bridge over a river that ran east along the estate and Thomas stopped to have a cigarette. Jimmy leaned over the bridge, gazing vacantly into the waters still half iced over. His breath steamed and his lips were chapped. The fall from the bridge wouldn't be far, but the water was surely deep enough. You'd need stones in your pocket, he thought idly.

He'd thought of that sort of thing since Jeffrey's death.

The rushing of the river below was hypnotic and he didn't know how long he stood there wondering if it wouldn't just be better if he followed after Jeffrey.

"Jimmy?" Thomas's voice broke his enchantment.

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. Thomas had a perfectly ordinary look on his face, as if he had no idea that Jimmy had just been fantasizing about plummeting to his death. But he was abruptly filled with an assurance that if he ever managed such a thing, it would destroy Thomas. No, he could never do that. Even if Thomas was so wrong to be in love with him. Jimmy sighed and looked back at the river almost regretfully before walking on.

They were nearly to the farm when Thomas finally said, "Bloody hell, can I at least ask if you're alright without you murderin' me?"

"Fine," Jimmy mumbled.

That answer didn't seem to satisfy Thomas who walked ahead of him, clutching his coat shut. At the farm they waited for a hand to fetch them the promised jam, loitering by the barn near a chicken coop. Jimmy wasn't used to farms. It seemed odd to think of farm animals in winter. He sniffed and leaned on the fence, staring blankly at the empty chicken yard. A girl in a dirty apron appeared from the barn and marched through to the chicken coop holding a hatchet. She pulled open the little gates of the coop and white chickens wandered out into their pen, squawking, shaking their talons in the ice and snow, and flapping around. It might not have bothered Jimmy, but the flap of a wing sent a single white feather fluttering into the chill air and his pulse started racing uncomfortably.

_No. Oh God, not now..._

He tried to breathe slowly but inconspicuously so as not to alert Thomas. But then the girl grabbed a chicken by its feet and set it on the chopping block. The thud of the hatchet made him jump. Blood and white feathers... White feathers fluttering through the air and landing in the snow... He swore he could almost smell the mustard gas.

When, in the distance, a gunshot sounded, he almost collapsed. Instead he slumped against the fence, gripping the iced over rail in his hands. He licked his chapped lips.

"Eh..."

Air. Air, there was no air. He shut his eyes and clutched at his heart, breaking into a sweat even in the chill. Thomas appeared at his side.

"You're having another spell?"

"I...I-I can't...can't..."

It was worse than the first attack. He almost felt as if something were choking him. Thomas was talking but Jimmy didn't know what he said. He helped Jimmy into the barn, which was at least away from white feathers and blood and guns. They sat on a bale of hay and Thomas was careful not to touch him. Jimmy took off his jacket and loosened his tie, feeling constricted. He went as far as to unbutton his collar. He held his head in his hands and tried to breathe. Thomas whispered soothing things and barked at a farm hand to get out.

Jimmy came through it finally, but he was left with a pounding headache. He declared himself better and Thomas was about to rise when Jimmy grasped his hand in both of his.

"_Wait_," Jimmy said. "Let's just sit here a moment?"

"Sure," Thomas agreed. Jimmy looked up to see desperate concern in Thomas's eyes. He was hardly ever so unguarded. Except when it came to him, Jimmy supposed. He couldn't bear it and stared down at their hands.

"It was the feathers," Jimmy said softly. "I have nightmares about white feathers."

"White feathers," Thomas repeated.

"For cowardice."

"Are you dreaming about the war?"

"Yes, but..." Jimmy shrugged. He ran his thumb along Thomas's glove. "Not really. Thomas, have you ever... Have you ever feared for your life? Not counting the war, I mean?"

"Oh... I've made advances to the wrong people. Got knocked around a bit when I was young."

"No, no. I don't mean you've gotten socked," Jimmy said. "I mean did you ever really think someone was about to kill you?"

"Have you?"

When Jimmy closed his eyes, he could see the man standing over him.

_If you ever come back here... If I ever hear you've seen him again..._

"Jeffrey's father," Jimmy said. "When he found us out. He saw us together. He was so calm at first. Angry but calm. Oh, he knew about Jeffrey. Everyone knew about Jeffrey. But he didn't know about me. That we had a real relationship. He didn't touch Jeffrey. He didn't want to have to make explanations. But me, he... He said he wanted to speak to me in the library. This was all at Lady Anstruther's, of course. But she wasn't there. I tried to stand up to him. I did. For Jeffrey's sake, at least. But... He...threw me against a wall. So hard I broke my arm. Took a bit of a beating but.. I... He put..." Jimmy pointed to his mouth, hesitant. It would sound even worse saying it aloud. Not that it wasn't bad already. "He put a pistol in my mouth. He kept it in his desk, you see. I thought he might kill me right there. No, I was sure of it. He said he would kill me if I ever saw Jeffrey again. That's why when he asked me, when Jeffrey asked me to help... I was too afraid. He said his father was going to have him committed. He wanted me to run away with him or stand up to his father. But I couldn't bear to... I-I'm so..."

Thomas said, "It wasn't your fault. You're not a coward-"

"How can you say-"

"Did Jeffrey know all this?"

"Yes."

"Then he shouldn't have expected you to confront his father," Thomas insisted. Jimmy still couldn't stand to look at him. "Or to run away with him."

"_You_ would've stood up to Mr. Anstruther," Jimmy muttered. "You would've fought back."

"I don't know that I would have," Thomas said. "He broke your _arm_?"

"I waited for it to heal before I interviewed here," Jimmy said. "Jeffrey gave me enough money to live on before I found a position. Lady Anstruther helped. She was kind, but she... She didn't know the details."

"I'm sorry this happened you," Thomas said. "I know that's rubbish thing to say."

"I keep dreamin' he's dying in the war," Jimmy said, his brow furrowed. "And you're there and... I can't believe how I've treated you-"

"It's alright." Thomas squeezed his hand.

"No, it bloody well isn't," Jimmy said fiercely. "It's not that I don't care for you. Don't you understand? Because I do, I do. You're brave and kind and clever. You_ are_ a good man. And it wouldn't be half so hard if I didn't, if... But after what happened... And that's, that's why you shouldn't love me, you _shouldn't_-"

"I don't care," Thomas said, and cupped Jimmy cheek to turn his head towards him. "I don't know what it is about you. At first it was because you're lovely to look at. But it's not just that anymore. I'm...troubled. Sometimes. I can be a dark sort. Maybe I sensed that about you. I don't know why, I don't care why, but I love you and that's never somethin' you can explain. You can't stop me. Especially now you've called me brave and clever and kind. No one's ever done that before. No one's likely had reason to."

"But you are, you..." Jimmy kissed him once, tenderly. It was unlike any of his desperate kisses. It was soft but full of feeling. And for someone who considered himself a coward it was a brazen thing to do when a farm hand could walk in at any moment.

"That's what I've been waiting for," Thomas whispered. "That's what I've always wanted."

The jam was received. The tenant farmer hoped Jimmy was feeling well. When they turned to leave, Thomas cast him a warm smile and Jimmy felt better than he had in months. Not perfect, by any means. Despite what Thomas said, he felt a terrible shame about everything. But telling Thomas about Jeffrey's father had been like letting anvils off his shoulders.

"I'm not letting you off, ya know," Thomas said, as they hiked back through the snow, carrying their crates. "Not after that."

"I suppose I don't want you to," Jimmy said shyly, walking close beside him. "I wasn't in love with Jeffrey in the end. I don't want you to think that. What I mean is... Well, I've been _fond_ of you for a while. Even if I didn't act like it. Honestly, the more of a boor I was, the more it meant I liked you."

"That sounds about right," Thomas said.

On the bridge, Jimmy didn't notice the depths of the icy river. Instead he stopped there to rest. When Thomas put down his crate, Jimmy backed him up against the bridge for another kiss. Thomas pulled back from him suddenly and rose an eyebrow. "Tell me something. Were you about to kiss me in the attic that time?"

Jimmy blushed and grinned for the first time in ages. "Ah... Well..."

"I knew it." Thomas turned serious again and gave him his bossiest expression. "Listen, if you have any nightmares, you can wake me up. Promise me you will."

_I'll never deserve this_, Jimmy thought. _I can't help taking it. But I'll never deserve it._

He was terrified. Fucking was one thing. But love... Love had gotten him a broken arm and a gun in his mouth.

But to Thomas he only said, "I will."

They returned to the house, jams in hand, to find everyone bustling about and looking startled. They put the jam away in the kitchen stores and in the kitchen, waited around for someone to tell them what was going on while stealing biscuits.

"Unexpected guests!" Mrs. Patmore said, throwing her hands in the air. "Shouldn't be so surprised. The word is that her Ladyship's become quite close with Lady Anstruther-"

"Lady Anstruther?" Jimmy said, a chill running up his spine. He exchanged a panicked look with Thomas.

"She's comin' to visit again," Mrs. Patmore confirmed. "Shared grief, I suppose. But she's bringin' her brother too. Jeffrey Anstruther's father. Poor soul. There's naught worse than losin' a child."

The fear was so keen, he thought he might have another spell. It was only Thomas's gentle hand suddenly on his back, even in front of Mrs. Patmore and Ivy as they readied dinner, that kept him from losing his senses.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note**: So little plot, so much time on my hands (er, but not really).

Thomas stood in Jimmy's room, late in the night, staring at an ink drawing that hung on his wall as Jimmy changed for bed. The picture portrayed a man in shirt sleeves sitting at a table, but only from the mouth down. It focused on his hands; the left was raised and his forefinger rested on his lip in a thoughtful attitude, while the right lay palm up on the table as if in supplication.

"I don't know how you can be so calm," Jimmy said behind him just as his livery shirt hit the wall beside the picture.

"You'll write her a letter," Thomas said, and turned to around. "Lady Anstruther. Tell her as many details as you can bear. She knew there was something between you and Jeffrey and that his father disapproved. She ought to know better than to bring him here. Tell her to invite her Ladyship up there if they must visit."

"She's naïve," Jimmy argued. "She always has been. She never did understand Jeffrey's madness."

"You're going to have to convince her," Thomas said firmly. He walked up and rested his hands on Jimmy's' shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze. "I'll help you. And if that doesn't work, we'll think of something else. It's going to be alright. I promise." Jimmy nodded. He paused and stepped into an embrace, wrapping his arms around Thomas.

"I'm glad you're here," Jimmy murmured, clinging to him. "Obviously, you're here, but I mean...like this."

"Of course," Thomas said. He rested his chin on Jimmy's shoulder and they stood locked together for so long that he started to wonder if Jimmy was falling asleep on his feet. Finally, Jimmy pulled away and turned, glancing around the room. He picked up the laundry he had been tossing around a moment before.

"Are you tired?" Jimmy said, fidgeting with the wrinkled shirt in his hands. "Or could you stay for a bit? Just to sit."

Thomas smiled and said, "I think I could manage it." He sat on the bed and went about lighting a cigarette, if only for something to do. Jimmy put his clothes away and sat up at the head of the bed.

"There's enough room up here," Jimmy said softly. There really wasn't, but they sat scrunched together anyhow. Jimmy sighed and leaned his head against the wall. "Lord, tell me somethin' funny, would you?"

Put on the spot, Thomas couldn't think of a thing and blew a puff of smoke before saying, "Somethin' funny... Well, Alfred still fancies Ivy and Ivy still fancies you a little."

Jimmy snorted. "That's absurd. But I don't know how funny it is. Tell me somethin' funny about _you_."

"Me?" Thomas couldn't think of anything about himself that _he _considered funny. But he said, "I hid Isis once."

"You...huh?" Jimmy frowned at him in the low light.

"I hid Isis. In a shed. In the woods. A couple years ago." Thomas smoked and his cheeks warmed. It was such a ridiculous story.

"Why would you do that?"

"The war was over," Thomas said. "I didn't have a place at Downton and I wanted to get on his Lordship's good side. I hid the dog so I could find her again. Only someone else found her first. I didn't know that though. I went mad trying to find her. Came back in a state, but his Lordship was impressed anyhow and none the wiser. So...it worked."

Jimmy stared at him fixedly and then burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, he had to cover his mouth to keep the noise down. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Jimmy whispered, when his guffawing finally faded to a chuckle.

"Oh, thanks ever so," Thomas muttered. "I don't think Isis has ever looked at me the same since."

That brought a fresh peal of laughter and Jimmy slipped down on the bed so his head was nestled against Thomas's shoulder. Thomas fought a smile; he hadn't seen Jimmy laugh since before Jeffrey's Anstruther's visit.

"Maybe you're a bastard after all," Jimmy said. "That's good. I'm a bastard too."

"I doubt that very much," Thomas said.

"I am. But... Well, you must be disappointed," Jimmy said seriously. He turned over on his side and leaned on his elbow, gazing up at Thomas with frightened eyes. "You probably had all these ideas about me. About my past or-"

"If I did they were stupid assumptions," Thomas said. He took a drag and blew the smoke out pensively. "The more I know of you, the more I love you. And don't give me any rubbish about how I shouldn't."

Jimmy nodded, as if trying to work out some difficult arithmetic, and lay back down. But he rested his head on Thomas's chest. Jimmy raised his arm and it hovered uncertainly for a moment before holding Thomas around his middle.

"I have a past too, ya know," Thomas said quietly, and he shifted his right arm under Jimmy so he could hold him. "Not eager to tell you about it. It would make your hair stand on end." He put his cigarette in a saucer on the nightstand and Jimmy took the opportunity to take his hand; his left. He wasn't wearing his glove and Jimmy traced over the scars. "It's awful, isn't it?" Thomas said.

"No," Jimmy whispered. "Everyone has scars."

"S'pose they do." Perhaps it was Jimmy's comment that made him think of the drawing on the wall, and he said, "Did Jeffrey do that picture of you?" He nodded at the drawing.

"Yeah," Jimmy said, and smiled a little. "How do ya know it's me?"

"I'd know your hands anywhere," Thomas said simply, and their fingers played with each other. "And your mouth."

"I'd know yours too," Jimmy said, sounding mischievous. "Especially your mouth."

"Oh really?"

Jimmy sat up to face Thomas. He reached up to run his fingers along Thomas's lips. His lips twitched and Jimmy's parted as if in answer. "Your mouth is wicked. I've _dreamed_ about your mouth."

"Are you flirting with me?" Thomas said.

"Yeah."

"About time."

Jimmy kissed him sweetly, as if testing the waters. But it went no further, he just rested his forehead against Thomas's. They stayed like for a while and it might've been awkward, except that never in his life had Thomas felt closer to someone than in that moment. Though they had just been speaking lightly, something had shifted in Jimmy's kiss and in the way he was content to remain there in Thomas's arms.

_If he hurts you, I'll kill him_, Thomas thought. He was capable of such a thing. He knew that about himself.

"You've always been there, haven't you?" Jimmy said. "I've been so stupid."

"No," Thomas said, and stroked his hair. "You've gone through a lot. More than I can imagine."

"But I did hurt you," Jimmy argued in whispers. "Thomas, I'm so sorry. You have to know that, _please_-"

"It's alright." He squeezed Jimmy's hand. "I know. Just lie down, won't you? You should probably get some sleep. You look tired."

"Are you going?" Jimmy said, clearly distraught.

"I'll stay til you fall asleep," Thomas said. "If you want me to."

"Yes. Stay." Jimmy lay down, but he held onto Thomas, who sat up and leaned his head back against the wall, worrying about Lord Anstruther.. Jimmy was quiet for a few minutes and then he whispered, "Thomas..."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

The next day, Thomas couldn't help but notice that Jimmy's eyes sought his whenever one of them entered a room to find the other there. He was sure he wasn't imagining the way Jimmy relaxed a little if Thomas gave him a nod or a smile. That night, they squirreled away in Thomas's room to write the letter to Lady Anstruther.

"Dear Lady Anstruther," Jimmy muttered, as he sat at the desk with a pen in his hand. "Your brother once stuck a pistol in my mouth. Please reconsider your holiday."

"So you're takin' the direct approach then?" Thomas said dryly. Jimmy snorted in response, but he went about writing his letter as Thomas smoked and paced behind him.

He waited, hearing the occasional rustle of stationary. He waited and waited.

"You're not done yet?" He finally said, after his third cigarette.

"Don't rush me," Jimmy mumbled. A few minutes later, he handed Thomas his letter; six pages double-sided. Thomas noted that Jimmy's penmanship was neat but angular, though as the letter went on, the writing became a little slanted and distorted.

"You address her as Agatha," Thomas said with some surprise.

"That's what I used to call her," Jimmy said.

Thomas read on. The letter spoke of Jimmy's grief over Jeffrey and his condolences for Lady Anstruther and her brother. But the tone shifted abruptly into pleading with her not to come to Downton and told the story of his confrontation with her brother.

_I'm sorry to be the one to inform you of your brother's true nature..._

_ I was certain he would kill me right then..._

_ He said he would not let my perversions be the ruin of the Anstruther estate..._

Reading the letter made his stomach turn a little and he absent-mindedly reached out to touch Jimmy's shoulder, as if to make certain he was still actually at Downton and alive.

"You didn't mince words, did you?" Thomas muttered. He was more than a little impressed by Jimmy's boldness.

"I-I don't know," Jimmy stuttered. He rose and fidgeted, half-sitting on the desk. "Is it too much? Should I-"

"No. She needs to the know the truth. You should scare her."

"I just hope it convinces her."

Thomas put the letter down and took Jimmy's hand in his. "I know it's frightening for you."

"It is. But... I feel a bit better." He tugged Thomas closer and gazed up shyly. "Now I've told you about it. No, a_ lot _better."

"Good." Thomas smiled and Jimmy pulled him yet closer for a kiss. Thomas started to break away but Jimmy pressed in and their tongues met. "Thomas..."

"Ah, I don't know if that's a good idea," Thomas said, and took a step back.

"I know what you said before." Jimmy stood up straight and played with the sleeve of his pajamas. "But it's different now. I... I wasn't just talkin' in my sleep last night." Thomas looked up sharply. "And didn't you say you weren't letting me off?"

"I know, but..." Thomas swallowed and fixed his eyes on the floor. He couldn't manage to look Jimmy in the eye. "Maybe you do love me, yeah. Or maybe you just need somebody right now. And I would understand that-"

"No, you don't understand," Jimmy said, taking a step closer. He cradled Thomas's cheek in his hand. "I've been falling for you for a long time."

"Yeah?" Thomas said. "How long? Thirsk fair?"

Jimmy's thumb pulled at Thomas's lip. "Why do ya you think I was always lookin'' at you? Told ya... That's why I was so nasty. Anyway. Long before then." He kissed Thomas along his jaw down to his neck. "You and I together? It should've been different." Thomas pulled Jimmy closer and let his eyes close, inhaling that glorious scent. It was his brand of pomade or something. Whatever it was made Thomas a little delirious. "It should've been slow and..._burning,_" Jimmy whispered, his breath was warm on Thomas's skin. "And sweet. All at once. Let me show you... Let me show you how it should've been."

Naked and on his back atop the pitifully small bed, Thomas looked up into a pair of blue eyes that glimmered in the low light.

Jimmy said, "You love me."

"You know I do," Thomas said. Jimmy was bracing himself, hovering above him, and Thomas ran his hands up Jimmy's arms, curling his thumbs into the tensed muscles.

"Tell me I love _you_," Jimmy said.

It took Thomas a moment to realize what he meant and he said, "You love me." Any insecurities that might've prevented belief in his own words went away when he saw Jimmy's expression.

_He really does love me,_ Thomas thought. _How did I manage that?_

Jimmy lowered his head and as he spoke, Thomas felt the barest brush of his lips feather-light on his collar bone. "Say it again."

"You love me."

The deliberateness of his soft kisses seemed ceremonial, and then Jimmy pressed his mouth over Thomas's heart as if that were his only true purpose. His hair was thick between Thomas's fingers; slightly stiff from whatever that lovely smelling stuff was that he used in it.

"When you say it, it sounds so _good_," Jimmy said. "Like it could never be wrong."

Thomas tipped Jimmy's head up. "It isn't. Does any part of this feel wrong to you?"

Thomas was afraid Jimmy was about to start weeping just then, but he only shook his head and said, "_No_."

"Then kiss me."

Jimmy _did _take his time. Thomas thought he would go mad at every touch; fingers raking though his chest hair as Jimmy nuzzled his neck, their hardened pricks sliding against each other. And later, after they had rolled over and he was inside Jimmy, he thought perhaps he_ had_ gone mad. Because this was too good. Too perfect. Jimmy whispered his name over and over like he was attempting some enchantment and Thomas was brought back to the moment; it was real. He thrust in again, slowly, and leaned forward mouthing along Jimmy's cheeks and under his chin, tasting his sweaty skin.

"Thomas... _Thomas_..."

"You love me," Thomas breathed.

"Aaah... Yes... I love you..."

It was different, as different as it could be. It wasn't like a first time either, but it did feel like a consummation of sorts and afterward Jimmy was kissing his fingers as they faced each other in the bed, his hand on Thomas's hip as visions of every derisive expression Jimmy had ever cast him following the illicit kiss took on a different meaning in Thomas's mind. And he remembered everything.

_Can't a red-blooded man compliment a pretty girl?_

_ I'll go if there's a crowd, of course, but not otherwise._

_ I can never give you what you want._

"I'll give you everything now," Jimmy muttered. Thomas thought for wild moment that he had actually read his mind. "I want you to know everything about me. And I want to know everything about you."

"You won't think me so brave and good if I do that," Thomas said lightly.

Jimmy chuckled and said, "I think you're brave because you're not ashamed of who you are. I used to think that was foolish."

"And now you don't?"

"Well..." Jimmy played with a tendril of Thomas's hair. "I don't feel so afraid now I'm with you."

"I hate to ruin things, but in a bit you should probably go back your room," Thomas said. "But...not yet."

Jimmy groaned and kissed him. "It was the nightingale and not the lark," he said. "Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."

"Shakespeare?" Thomas rose an eyebrow. "I'm impressed. But I'd rather we don't end up like Romeo and Juliet."

"It's rubbish," Jimmy said. "All that tragedy over some slow post."

"From what I recall there was more to it than that," Thomas said, laughing. He rolled over onto his back and took a cigarette from the pack on his nightstand. "Star crossed lovers and all," he said as he lit up.

"Our sort's always star-crossed," Jimmy mumbled, snuggling up to him.

Thomas stuck the cigarette in his mouth and picked up Jimmy's left hand to put his own against it. Funny how Jimmy was left-handed and it was Thomas's left that was wounded. "And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss," he said softly. "Stuff crossed stars. I don't believe in astrology."

A week later they were at breakfast when Jimmy received a letter from Lady Anstruther. It had been a glorious week during which Thomas sometimes felt dizzy whenever Jimmy smiled at him, yet still the anxiety over the question of Anstruther loomed. Jimmy had experienced a couple of his spells, having worked himself into a state worrying. But Thomas was always there to talk him down. A few times he had woken up in the night to Jimmy crawling into bed with him.

"I'll go back in a bit," Jimmy would whisper. "I need you near me now."

Thomas sipped his tea, glancing at Jimmy as he read his letter. Anna was saying something about Ireland but he'd stopped listening. When Jimmy clutched his arm, he almost spat in surprise, but no one else had noticed the gesture.

"They're coming," Jimmy whispered. "They're still coming."

"After all _that_?"

"She says he wants to see the place Jeffrey..." Jimmy mumbled and blinked. His hands were shaking. "He knows. He must know-"

"Shhh, careful," Thomas warned.

Jimmy nodded and said, "I know. I know, sorry." Under the table, he tightly gripped Thomas's hand.

Thomas expected fear or spells that day, or for Jimmy to lash out again. What he didn't expect, as they stood huddled in the hallway later, was for Jimmy to become so determined.

"We'll get you out of here before the Anstruthers arrive," Thomas said in a low voice, smoking furiously. "We'll say you have a sick cousin. Anything. They'll survive less one footman. I'll fill in."

"No..." Jimmy was staring over Thomas's shoulder, so intensely that Thomas glanced back to see if there was anything worth staring at. "No, I'm not goin' to run."

"It's not _running_," Thomas argued. Though he wasn't clear on his own logic, as technically, it was running. "Or we could ring her up, perhaps if she heard your voice... Unless you're willing to tell Lord Grantham-"

"Huh, no," Jimmy said with a snort. "I'm not doin' that either. Anstruther knows I'm here. She didn't say so, but I can feel it. He won't be satisfied until he's seen me."

_Or killed you,_ Thomas thought, and a chill ran up his spine. It was himself he was keen on protecting. Because certainly nobody was laying a finger on Jimmy Kent as long as he was alive. He was content to throw himself in the line of fire if it came to that. He'd done it before after all. The wounds had barely healed. He touched the little scar on his lip.

They were standing close together and when Mr. Carson appeared from around a corner, Thomas took a step back.

"Cozy?" Mr. Carson said darkly. Thomas's stomach tightened. Had they been so obvious?

Jimmy's head snapped up and he said, "If you've got somethin' you'd like to say, Mr. Carson, you ought to just say it."

Thomas and Mr. Carson stared at him, gobsmacked. Mr. Carson only cleared his throat and, narrowing his eyes, said in his thundering voice, "You've got work to do, James. Remember that occupation for which you are compensated? Work?"

Mr. Carson walked on and Thomas said, "Have you completely lost your mind?"

"No," Jimmy said, smiling grimly. "I've just made _up_ my mind. I don't believe in astrology either."

Thomas almost felt as if their positions had switched as, over the course of the week, Jimmy was often the one calming _him_ down. They debated the situation constantly. Thomas used every rhetorical device at his disposal to make Jimmy disappearing for a bit sound like anything other than cowardice.

"It's survival," he said, sitting up in bed one night. "I believe in survival, you know. That's why I've got the glove." He held up his wounded hand and wiggled his fingers.

"No comparison," Jimmy huffed. "You could've _lost _your hand doin' that. And it wasn't on the first day. Bloody two years in the trenches? I wouldn't have lasted a week."

"This isn't a war, Jimmy," Thomas said, immediately contradicting himself.

"It's _my_ war."

Then the day arrived as stubbornly as did the Anstruthers to Downton and Jimmy to his place between Alfred and Thomas in front of the great house when the motor pulled up. Thomas gave Jimmy a slight shake of the head when he started to take a step forward, and went himself along with Alfred to open the doors. Thomas helped out Lady Anstruther, noting that the she looked a good ten years older than the last time he had seen her, her face drawn. She was all in black. She nodded her thanks to Thomas and went straight to Lady Grantham, who murmured a welcome and embraced her. Alfred opened the door for Lord Charles Anstruther and Thomas walked as quickly as he could around the car without running, back to his place next to Jimmy.

Jimmy had only described Charles Anstruther as "intimidating." Thomas had imagined a large man, though Jeffrey had been thin and of average height. Yet Lord Anstruther was no taller than Thomas and of a slighter frame. But Thomas now new what Jimmy meant by intimidating. Lord Anstruther had grey and silver hair worn a little longish below the ears. His eyes were dark above narrow cheeks and a determined chin. There was something terribly severe about him. He carried himself like he might be commanding an army at any moment. He wore a black suit and held a thin black walking stick with the silver head of jaguar at its top. It was hard to imagine such a man producing someone like Jeffrey.

Lord and Lady Grantham greeted him, giving their utmost condolences and Lord Anstruther addressed them warmly. But Thomas saw his eyes go straight to Jimmy, who stood stock still, eyes fixed ahead, his brow furrowed.

Thomas took his place next to Carson and gauged Charles Anstruther.

_Yes, I could beat him to within an inch of his life_, Thomas decided. _Easily._

"Downton is at your disposal, my dear fellow," Lord Grantham said. "We only hope you find some measure of respite here."

"I'm sure I will," Lord Anstruther said. His voice was deep and grave, his hard gaze still cast in Jimmy's direction. "I'm sure I'll find just what I've been looking for."


	5. Chapter 5

**Good Men of Britain Chapter 6**

**Note:** Last chapter. That's it. I really hope you're satisfied with the ending. Because that's it ends, man.

_Just serve dinner_, Jimmy thought. _ He's not going to strangle you in front of the Granthams._

Jimmy hoped not anyhow. It was a nightmare scenario. A nightmare of manners, at least. There was Lord Charles Anstruther calmly eating lobster as Lord Grantham spoke of Downton's welfare. Jimmy went around with the sauce and steeled himself when he served Anstruther, whose eyes flicked up to cast him a cold but unreadable look. Jimmy took his place next to Alfred and stared straight ahead. He could feel Thomas's eyes on him. It was hard not to look. He wondered if anyone other than the three of them and the Dowager Anstruther could feel the tension in the room.

There was a break in conversation and the high pitched clink of silver on silver rattled Jimmy's nerves. Lady Mary said, "I want to express again, my deep condolences. We did so enjoy Jeffrey's company when he visited. He rather brought my spirits up."

"He had a talent for that," Lady Anstruther said, smiling sadly. "And his painting... Jeffrey's was a beautiful soul. Too lovely for this world."

_That's what they always say about people who die young_, Jimmy thought. _What rubbish._

"We felt the same way about our Sybil," Lady Grantham said.

Everyone was quiet and then Lord Anstruther said, "You can only help your children so much. Sometimes they don't wish to be helped."

Jimmy wondered if Lord Anstruther honestly believed he had been helping Jeffrey. No, he thought. Maybe Lord Anstruther had loved his son in his own twisted manner. But he had only concerned himself with the business of his estate when it came to his heir.

"I'm sure you tried your hardest," Lord Grantham said.

Jimmy met Thomas's eyes for the briefest of moments, enough to share their disgust.

"It was a...complicated situation," Lord Anstruther said, and took a sip of wine. Anstruther had a low voice. To Jimmy it was always laced with malice. But he didn't know if that was just his imagination or not. "I believe when he was young, he was made to believe he could have everything he wanted. The best of both worlds. Whether it was intentional or not. It was his undoing."

Jimmy clenched his jaw. The comment was clearly directed at him.

Lord Grantham frowned and said, "I'm not sure I understand what you-"

"That's not fair, Charles," Lady Anstruther said. "I-"

"I didn't mean you," Anstruther said.

"Yes, I know what you meant."

Lady Grantham saved the moment, asking what would happen with the estate. _Leave it to the titled sorts_, Jimmy thought darkly, _to focus on important things like inheritance_. But at least the conversation took a turn away from Jeffrey's youth. The remainder of the dinner went smoothly enough and Jimmy was relieved. On his way back to the kitchen, Thomas caught up with him and pulled him aside.

"How are you doing?" Thomas said.

"I just don't know what he wants," Jimmy whispered. "Well, maybe I do. But he can't literally have come here to... I mean, it's a touch dramatic, isn't it?"

"Listen to me," Thomas said. "You're not to be alone with him. Understand? If he calls for you, send someone else or come find me-"

"Thomas-"

"I'm dead serious."

Jimmy nodded but the thought irritated him. He was tired of being protected all the time. Yet the thought of being alone with Lord Anstruther filled him with dread. He felt as if he were being forced to await an inevitable disaster. For a moment, he could almost taste the cold metal of Lord Anstruther's gun in his mouth, but he only smiled at Thomas and left him.

After drinks in the saloon, Jimmy went about gathering up empty glasses and decanters on a tray. He was turning a corner on his way back downstairs when he glimpsed Lord Anstruther striding in his direction. He stepped back, ducking behind a pedestal with a vase atop it.

_Well, done you_, he thought, full of shame._ Very brave._

That was when he heard Thomas's voice at the far end of the hall say, "Ah, my Lord. Might I have a word?"

Jimmy wanted to stop him; step in and make an excuse to get him away from Lord Anstruther. Though, for all he knew, it was an innocuous message from an under butler to a guest.

_Move_, Jimmy told himself. Yet he stayed rooted to the spot, his pulse pounding.

"Barrow, is it?" Even when Lord Anstruther spoke normally, there was something threatening about it. At least to Jimmy's mind. As if every word were laced with a warning if you did not watch yourself.

"Yes, sir."

_Sir, and not my Lord,_ Jimmy thought. _Don't do this…_

He peeked around the corner and saw Lord Anstruther squint at Thomas, who had caught up to him. But Anstruther didn't call him on the obvious slip. Thomas said, "I wanted to extend my condolences…"

"Yes. Ah, thank you…" Lord Anstruther said.

"I understand your son was well acquainted with one of our footmen," Thomas said. "Jimmy Kent."

Jimmy couldn't breathe and he held a shaking hand over his mouth.

_Don't get involved,_ he thought. _Don't make yourself the target, Thomas. Please stop. _

But Jimmy was frozen to the spot. He could only listen, hoping Lord Anstruther didn't hear him and the whole thing spiral out of control. Now Lord Anstruther was definitely taking Thomas's measure. He stood straight, though Thomas was slightly taller; Lord Anstruther's white tie finery made him appear larger somehow.

Lord Anstruther said, "I see. If you know that, you must know Jimmy Kent very well."

Thomas's hands were at his sides. He was smiling. "I believe I do, sir," Thomas said quietly. "You see, we are rather protective of each other here at Downton. We look after our own."

Anstruther regarded him for a long moment."You will want to address me as 'my Lord.' If we are to speak civilly, Barrow."

"Of course, my Lord. My apologies." It was unsettling the way he was smiling; as unsettling as his low and carefully controlled tone. "And I share your desire for civility. In fact, if things were to become..._un_civil, I myself should be quite cross."

Lord Anstruther put his hands in his pockets. "I see Jimmy Kent has himself a white knight."

"If ya like."

"You want to be careful what you say now," Anstruther said. "Some might take it as a veiled threat."

Thomas shrugged, all innocence. "I don't know what you mean, my Lord. As long as there's no trouble...there won't by any trouble." Thomas's smile abruptly disappeared. "And if Jimmy Kent comes to any harm...so will you."

Anstruther was the first to break. Jimmy finally saw his facade crack like an egg. "I would have you locked_ up_ before you could even-"

"It's not what I ever imagined I would end up in prison for, sir, but I thought it might happen eventually."

"You know, I'm not so terribly afraid of _your_ sort of man," Lord Anstruther said dryly, composing himself again. "I've dealt with them before. But I imagine you know about that too."

"Are you talking about Jimmy?" Thomas said, raising an eyebrow. "Or your son?"

Jimmy coughed. He started to take a step forward, even though he was still shaky with anxiety. Mr. Carson came up behind him before he had the chance to interrupt.

"Do you not have somewhere to be, James?" Mr. Carson said loudly. He stopped around the corner, finding the two men looking grave, if a little alarmed.

"My Lord?" Mr. Carson said. "May I help?"

Lord Anstruther and Thomas saw Jimmy and for a moment, he thought Mr. Carson would catch on to everything.

"Time for a drink, I suspect," Lord Anstruther said. He the granted the men a nod and made his way to the saloon.

Jimmy had hardly caught his breath. But he was sensible enough to head in the direction of the downstairs, ignoring Thomas. He was so angry, he didn't have words for it. Yet for the rest of the evening, Thomas remained stubbornly in his vicinity.

"What's wrong?" Thomas whispered, as they loitered in the servants' hall.

Jimmy only glared at him. "I think you know."

Thomas appeared in his room that night, as Jimmy was readying himself for bed.

"Alright," Thomas said, his hands clasped in front of him. "What've I done?"

"I heard your little confrontation," Jimmy snarled. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have stuck your neck out like that."

"I want him to know he's bein' watched," Thomas said. He raised his eyebrows in a way that Jimmy suddenly found patronizing. "I want him to know you're not alone here."

"Just stop...stop protecting me all the time. Stop jumpin' into fights for me. They're _my_ fights. Do you understand?" He pounded his chest with one fist. "I have to sort this out myself."

Thomas said, "Alright. I suppose I should've told you I was going to speak to him. Honestly, I didn't know I was going to do it before I did it."

"Typical," Jimmy said. He took off his livery shirt and tossed it on a chair.

"If you were so upset, why didn't you step in?" Thomas said.

"Because I couldn't move." He leaned against the bureau and gripped it's edge with his fingers. "I panicked. Another spell, as you call it." He felt ridiculous claiming he wanted to fight his own wars, only to immediately admit such a terrible weakness. "But it doesn't matter. I don't want you to get hurt because of me. Not again. _Please_."

Thomas stepped up to Jimmy and gently held his head, gazing into his eyes as if looking for a symptom of illness. "Are you alright now?"

"Yeah. He just..." Jimmy rested his hands on Thomas's arms, feeling his biceps. "He makes me feel so small. Like he could crush me."

"He can't though," Thomas said, and his voice shook with emotion. "He can't touch what we are. What we have. None of em' can. We've got each other now. I love you. They can't touch it." He kissed Jimmy.

"No, they can't, can they..." Jimmy whispered, before kissing Thomas again.

The next day they hardly saw Lord Anstruther at all, except at breakfast when he kept casting glances in Jimmy or Thomas's direction. The Anstruthers were taken on a tour of the grounds by the Crawleys and Jimmy was thankful for the respite.

His peace was ended late that evening when he was asked to serve drinks to Lord Grantham and Lord Anstruther in the saloon. Thomas was insistent that he serve as well, earning suspicious looks from Mr. Carson, until Jimmy elbowed Thomas in the ribs and told him to calm down.

So Jimmy was standing straight and tall at the bar as the two gentlemen smoked their cigars and commiserated further on their respective tragedies. Jimmy wondered if Lord Grantham at all comprehended what sort of man Jefferey had been. Likely, he did. He had known about Thomas after all. Jimmy stared at the wall. The saloon's wallpaper was an ornate design of vines and dragons intertwining. He was trying to ignore Lord Anstruther, who kept staring at him.

_ Death would be easier,_ Jimmy thought, feeling sardonic. _At least it would be done with._

"Emily wasn't able to have children after Jeffrey," Anstruther was saying. "Or we certainly would have... But then we thought we had our heir. We thought we were safe. Now they're both gone." He sipped his brandy.

"I'm so sorry, Charles," Lord Grantham said quietly, tapping his cigar.

"I really don't mean to sound as if my only concern is the estate..."

"Of course not."

Lord Anstruther got to his feet and he shook his empty glass in Jimmy's direction. He looked slightly unsteady and Jimmy wondered if he'd been at the brandy before sitting down with Grantham. Jimmy refreshed his drink, remaining stoic. He did his best Thomas impression.

"Perhaps James has spoken of my son," Anstruther said. His lips turned up slightly, but his eyelids looked heavy. "They knew each other quite well."

Lord Grantham gazed on Jimmy kindly and said, "He has, yes. I'm afraid the news was a terrible shock to him."

Grantham nodded and Jimmy took it as a cue to speak. "It was, my Lord." He had no earthly idea where his courage came from. Perhaps it was Thomas telling him that no one could truly come between them, but he found himself raising his eyes to Anstruther as he said, "He was brilliant. And...and he was a good man. It should never have happened."

Anstruther sipped his refreshed brandy and his eyes didn't leave Jimmy. Jimmy couldn't make heads or tails of his expression. "No, it shouldn't have," Anstruther muttered.

No one spoke for an awkward breath of a moment, until Anstruther said, "You'll think me a villain, Robert."

Jimmy risked a glance at Grantham, who was clearly befuddled. "A villain? Whatever do you mean?"

"Should I tell you the particulars," Anstruther went on. He stood facing the fireplace, clutching his brandy and cigar, and took a puff. "I was at my end with Jeffrey. People may think they know. You see? They may think I hated my son-"

"Why would-"

"I loved my son. Dearly. More than life. I wanted to save him from ruin, from... I went to the best doctors. I labored to keep him from corrupting influences." He threw a glare at Jimmy, who swallowed and clasped his hands behind his back. He had an urge to laugh. If anything, Jeffrey had corrupted _him_. "Jeffrey wanted to take advantage of our way of life, but he didn't want to sacrifice anything. So how am I to blame?'

"Charles," Robert said carefully. "It's normal to blame yourself. Especially in this sort of situation, but-"

"You aren't listening," Anstruther said, whipping around. "I _don't _blame myself. How could I? I did everything in my power to... But it was a battle of wills between us. Ha. That was the problem all along. We were too much alike truly. And Jeffrey won. How he must have smiled when he died…to know he would haunt me the rest of my days. He insisted on being as different as possible. As if to challenge the world. As if to challenge me. And now he has the last word. He will always have it. What better last word is there than death? But what else was I to do? He was my heir. My son. He would've ruined the family just to prove a point. And now he has and he's proved it."

Anstruther paced, he seemed to have forgotten for a moment that Jimmy was even there. But Lord Grantham exchanged a small glance with Jimmy as if they were on the same side.

"He threatened to do it so many times, Robert," Ansthruther went on. "Over the smallest things. If you don't let me go to Paris for the summer, I'll kill myself. If you send me back to London, I'll kill myself. If you don't let me see Ji-"

Jimmy's face flushed, but Anstruther had stopped his words. For whatever reason. Lord Grantham thankfully didn't make the connection.

Jimmy blurted, "But he_ did_ try-"

He caught himself and stared down at the floor. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I...spoke out of turn."

He had only wanted to point out that Jeffrey had attempted suicide during the war. To pretend his threats were never serious was a bald-faced lie or a fantasy. Jimmy wondered which it was.

"It's alright, James," Lord Grantham said. "Perhaps... No, of course. You're awfully emotionally involved in this, I think, James. I understand. Tell Carson I want him to relieve you."

Jimmy started to leave but before he did, Anstruther said, "I apologize if I've upset _you_ terribly."

"Not at all, my Lord," Jimmy mumbled. He was almost able to meet Lord Anstruther's eyes again.

But not quite.

"I don't know what he wants from me."

Jimmy was saying this to himself, alone in his room, having relieved Carson. He was surprised he had not had a spell in the saloon. The moment had seemed so surreal; perhaps it had gone beyond fear into simply feeling odd. He didn't know what to think of Lord Anstruther. He sat alone with his panic, wringing his hands for two hours. A thought pulsed in his head. It was stupid. But it wouldn't go away.

"I should meet with him," Jimmy finally said aloud.

He wrote a note. The note said:

_Library-midnight -J.K._

Jimmy sat on his bed, staring at the note in his hands for at least twenty minutes. Thomas, as far as he knew, was in his room. They had agreed that since Thomas had loosened his tongue a bit with Lord Anstruther, it might be better if they avoided any suspicious bedroom behavior during his visit.

_What's my plan? _ Jimmy thought. _To get killed?_

"To end it finally," he said aloud.

Yes. Yes. He would speak to Lord Anstruther. By himself. Late at night. And when Thomas found out. he would be killed anyhow. He didn't tell himself to get up, still wearing his livery, and sneak out of the men's quarters. Yet it happened.

_Maybe I'm being dramatic_, he thought. _He can't very well murder me right here in the house._

_Can he?_

As it turned out, Jimmy needn't have bothered with the note. On his way to the upstairs bedrooms, Lord Anstruther found him.

"James, I was hoping to find you," he said in his deep and smooth tones. "I believe you and I are due for a talk."

Jimmy looked somewhere near Lord Anstruther's chin when he spoke. "Ah. Yes...my Lord."

His hands shook a little and he gripped the note tightly to hide it. Anstruther opted for the saloon. Everyone was in for the night. It occurred to Jimmy with a great rush of fear just exactly how stupid this was. But Anstruther was calm. Jimmy watched him poor two drinks and a for a mad second, the thought of poison popped like a bubble in his head.

"You needn't be so frightened," Anstruther said, handing him his glass.

Jimmy said, "The last time I saw you..."

"I told you to stay away from my son. And you did. I know Jeffrey came to you."

Jimmy stared into his glass. It was a top shelf scotch, nothing he was ever likely to drink normally, except on Christmas.

"He did," Jimmy muttered. He flexed and unflexed his hand. It wouldn't stop trembling, so he held his glass carefully on his knee. "He was sneaky about it too."

"I want to know what happened here," Anstruther said. "Because before Jeffrey left for Downton, he was fine. Angry, but not terribly out of sorts. He came back in a state."

_Because I broke him_, Jimmy thought bitterly. _With the story about Thomas... It was the ultimate betrayal._

"He wanted me to help him fight his corner," Jimmy said. "Against you. And I didn't. Instead I made him hate me."

"How did you manage that?" Anstruther said dryly. "He always adored you. My sister's house wasn't the same after you left, you know. Jeffrey wasn't the same."

"I wasn't the same either," Jimmy said.

"He was_ so_ angry after that," Anstruther said, staring at nothing. "If anything he was more stubborn, more determined to do what he liked. No matter the consequences. He never really understood that there are consequences." Jimmy barked a laugh and Anstruther looked up sharply. "Speak your mind. It hardly matters now."

"Of course, he knew the consequences," Jimmy said slowly. "All you did was constantly remind him of what he could never have. You took everything away from him all his life. Everything. Until he had nothing left. _That's _why-"

"He was mad!" Anstruther said. It came out like a plea.

"He was saner than you." Jimmy felt charged suddenly and he rose to his feet and turned away from Lord Anstruther; to the shelves full of books that Lord Grantham had likely never read.

Anstruther drained his glass and said, "I swear to you, I was only trying to protect him from the world."

"You swear to me..." Jimmy frowned as he repeated the words.

_Why would you swear to me of all people?_

It came to Jimmy suddenly that it was Anstruther on the defensive and not him. The thought was likely to break his brain. He finished how own drink and felt the burn in his throat. He set the glass down on a shelf. It would probably make a ring.

"What is it you want from me after all?" Jimmy said, mostly to himself. He didn't expect an answer.

"I told you, I want to know what happened here." Anstruther rose behind him; likely so he could use his height as a form of intimidation. But he wasn't any taller than Thomas. "I want to know what you said to him to make him-"

"No!" Jimmy said, shaking his head. "No, that's not it at all. You want absolution."

"Ha," Anstruther laughed. "I don't blame myself. Enough with the histrionics. My son was a lunatic."

"Yes, you _do_," Jimmy said, too surprised to be afraid anymore. He faced Anstruther and couldn't help but smile, he was so awestruck. Amused almost. "Of course, you do. You can't think straight for blamin' yourself, can ya? Well, you should. I do. I always will, I suppose. Doesn't matter what anyone says, does it? It won't go away. Does everyone else blame you as well? Is that it? Even Lady Anstruther?"

"_She_ doesn't understand," Anstruther said, speaking too quickly. He had forgotten himself. "He wanted to pretend he lived in a different world. But he didn't. He lived in this world. And this world doesn't change."

His last statement rang oddly in Jimmy's ears; a note off key. "The world doesn't... Of _course_, the world changes. The world's always changin'. Haven't you been payin' attention?" Jimmy laughed and clapped his hands to his head. It was funny. It was all utterly hilarious suddenly. You could think a thing was true. But to feel that something was true: that was epiphany. And he was having one. It was thrilling. "You're so bloody afraid! But he wasn't. You're the one who's afraid of the world. Jeffrey never was, not really. And nothin' scared ya so much as him never fearin' _you_. That's it. Ha!" Tears crept out of his eyes. Which was odd really, because he felt like another great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "You...you noble men. You good men with all your bloody traditions. Tellin' everybody how to live and who to love and what sort of job to have 'cause you've got the money and you've got the power... You're the one who made the world a place where Jeffrey couldn't live! You're all just so afraid, aren't ya? How bloody rich is that?"  
"Oh, just shut your mouth, you stupid boy!" Lord Anstruther shoved him him into the bookcase. But he was clumsy on his feet.

Jimmy grabbed Lord Anstruther's lapels and snarled into his face. "Everyone ought to know!" Jimmy said. "Everyone ought to know who Jeffrey was and why he died! And then they'd hate you and you'd know you deserved it! I can't believe I was ever so frightened of someone so small!"

Anstruther shoved him again and then stepped away, running a shaking hand through his hair. "I'll tell Lord Grantham about you," Anstruther hissed. "You and that under butler. You'll be sacked! I'll ring the police!"

"You do what you like," Jimmy said. "You'll still be livin with yourself. I'd take prison any day."

"I hope you lose someone you love," Anstruther growled. "Then you'll understand-"

"I _did_!"

"Charles."

Lady Anstruther's voice was calm when it rang in the library and the entire energy of the room shifted. Jimmy's head jerked slightly and he straightened up, attempting to look as if he had not been in a physical altercation with the aristocracy.  
Jimmy said, "My lady, I-"

"Go to bed, Jimmy," Lady Anstruther said, as if she were talking to her own child. It was a tone he hadn't heard from her in years.

"Yes, m'lady," he mumbled.

He felt lighter than air on the way back to his room. Which didn't make sense, he guessed. His situation was likely more dire than ever. But he felt strong and brave.

_Thomas will be so proud_, he thought, smiling to himself. _ Jeffrey would be so bloody proud of me._

He couldn't sleep a wink. He felt energized as if he were about to run a race and he paced in his room. His emotions swung from gleeful to mournful and ashamed when he thought of how he should've confronted Lord Anstruther when Jeffrey had _asked _him to. He couldn't think of what to do about things. What if Anstruther made good on his threat? He had a mind to wake Thomas up and escape into the night.

"No, I won't run," he said without thinking. "I ran before. Not again."

He debated with himself for hours; fearful, exuberant, exhausted. By morning he had in his head another ridiculous idea. He sat on the edge of his bed, his hands on his knees, thinking that he would do this ridiculous thing. He was so certain, it seemed as if he'd already done it. He left the idea like an object on a pedestal in his mind and dared not touch it. If he thought it through, he would see how mad it was.

"But it needs to be done," he muttered. "It needs to be."

In the morning, he felt the bone-weary giddiness that comes from not sleeping at all. But he washed and dressed as usual. He was the first one down to breakfast. He felt a wonderful contentment as he gazed at Thomas over the table. Love was like a blanket all around him. A blanket that warmed him, and also an armor that could protect him from anything. He found himself smiling stupidly until Alfred teased him and he bit his lip to stop. Thomas kept glancing at him, looking by turns confused and then worried.

"Mr. Carson, I need a word with you at your earliest convenience," Jimmy said as they rose at the end of the meal.

"Alright..." Mr. Carson nearly always sounded suspicious when Jimmy asked him anything. Now it only amused him.

He knew it was wrong not to at least tell Thomas what he was about to do. But if he said it aloud first, he wouldn't be able to go through with it. It didn't help that Thomas was glaring at him as if willing him to telepathically communicate his intentions. Jimmy just shook his head.

_It needs to be done._

He was lucky that Thomas was called to answer the front door just before Mr. Carson ushered him into his office. Mr. Carson sat his desk and looked on him expectantly. Jimmy's heart started racing. He cleared his throat.

"I have somethin' to say," he said.

"Alright." Mr. Carson said.

Jimmy licked his lips and clenched his fists. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he said, "I am romantically involved with Mr. Barrow. We're together. Romantically. Mr. Barrow and I."

Mr. Carson didn't react for a moment and then he stood up. "What..."

"I think you heard me well enough."

"James," Mr. Carson said. "This sort of thing is not a laughing matter. If this is a jape-"

'"It's not," Jimmy said. "It's the truth."

"Let us say for a moment, that it is the truth," Mr. Carson said. "Why, in the name of God, would you tell me this?"

"Because..." Jimmy sighed. Where to begin? "Because of personal reasons. Besides, you might've found out anyway. Because of Lord Anstruther."

"What has Lord Anstruther to do with this?" Carson barked. The truth had, apparently, sunk in completely.

"He has it out for me."

"Why?"

"Because I was also involved with Jeffrey Anstruther," Jimmy said, blushing. "For years. And Lord Anstruther found us out and he threatened to kill me and he threatened to have Jeffrey committed and Jeffrey asked me to help him, but I didn't and then he _offed_ himself and that's why I'm tellin' ya, Mr. Carson!"

Mr. Carson raised his fists and shook them in the air as if to ward off spirits. "This is too much information for one person to... You of all people! After all that bloody trouble you put us through-"

"I know. I'm sorry. I was afraid. But I'm not now."

"Well, that's just delightful, James-"

"It is actually-"

"What am I to do with this!" Carson roared. "You shouldn't have... I'll have to sack the both of you!"

The door swung open and Thomas appeared, a little breathless. "What're you two on about?" He demanded. "They can hear you in the hall, Mr. Carson."

"You!" Mr. Carson pointed at Thomas who only rose his eyebrows. "How many chances have we given you! All these years! You...you _fiend_!"

"Don't you call him names!" Jimmy shouted, his blood hot. "Don't you say a word against him! He's done nothin' wrong!"

"What, precisely, is happening?" Thomas said, baring his teeth a little at Mr. Carson.

"I told him that we're together," Jimmy said. "That we're in _love_."

"Oh my God..." Mr. Carson rested a hand over his eyes, as if hiding from the word.

Thomas's eyes went about as wide as Jimmy had ever seen them, even in the throes of passion. "What've you done," he said dully.

"It's alright," Jimmy insisted, because has certain it was true. "It's goin' to be alright."

Thomas made a funny little laughing noise in response to that.

"Have you... Have you..._done _anything?" Mr. Carson said.

Jimmy grabbed Thomas's hand and squeezed. Thomas glanced at him and he tried to speak with his eyes.

_Don't you deny us._

Thomas pursed his lips and shrugged. "Yes. Yes, we have. Several times. I'm surprised you didn't hear us carryin' on. Truly."

"Stop talking!" Carson said.

"You asked," Jimmy said.

Carson leaned on his desk, glaring at them. "In all my years... In all my years... It's not just the...the perversion, you know. It wouldn't stand for any couple to be having...liaisonswhile they work here-"

Jimmy said, "Anna and Bates-"

Thomas cracked, "Unless they're John Bates."

"They're married!" Carson said.

"Well, we can't get married, can we!" Jimmy sneered.

"Get out of my office before I throw you out! The two of you!" Carson all but vibrated with anger. "I'll speak to his Lordship, but you will both surely be sacked!"

Jimmy started to say, "What about references-"

"OUT!"

In the hallway, they stood shellshocked for a moment. Thomas glowered down at him, breathless, and finally said, "I need a cigarette."

"Thomas," Jimmy said, following him to the backdoor. Thomas was walking too quickly. He was obviously upset. "Thomas, I'm sorry. I had to do it!"

"Be quiet for god's sakes." Thomas nodded at Alfred and Anna who were frowning at them from the servants' hall table.

"But that doesn't matter now," Jimmy said.

In the courtyard, Thomas lit a cigarette and, after a drag, said only, "Why?" He sounded heart broken, as if Jimmy had betrayed him. Jimmy hadn't quite expected that.

"Because of Jeffrey," Jimmy said. "Because of _you_. Anstruther might've had us caught out anyway. I wanted to beat him to it and-and...I'm tried of running away and letting them win!"

"A nice sentiment, but what if somebody rings the police?"  
"They won't," Jimmy said. "Even if they do, Carson and his Lordship'd rather serve dinner starkers than expose Downton to a scandal like that."

"But what _if_," Thomas insisted. "Would you still have done it?"

"Yes," Jimmy said. "And then I'd stand in front of the magistrate and tell him I love you."

Thomas looked at him and Jimmy thought he saw admiration for a moment. Then his senses seemed to return. "You know we're going to lose our jobs."

"Yes."

Thomas smoked and shook his head. "I can't believe you've ruined me twice over."

"No. No, I almost ruined you once," Jimmy said. "Because I hated you and I was afraid. Now I really have ruined you because I love you and I'm not afraid."

"That's not overly comforting." Thomas drew in on his cigarette again and leaned back against the wall. "Oh bloody _hell_... I fell for a revolutionary."

"Look, it's not exactly like before," Jimmy said. Because he had given this about a minute's thought. "I'm sure they'll give us references. But stuff it. Let's go to Paris or Berlin or America. It's not like this everywhere, ya know. I'm sorry I did it this way. But I had to. Do you understand?"

Thomas shook his head again and Jimmy was truly worried for a moment that he'd utterly mucked it all up. "I... I just..." He leaned forward suddenly and kissed Jimmy hard. "I love you so bloody much. We'll work it out. Stuff em'."

Jimmy grinned. "Yes," he said nodding. "Yes, good. Yes."

_We will work it out_, Jimmy though with great assurance. _It's going to be fine. Much better than it ever was before even._

Thomas and Jimmy were in their own little world or they would've noticed the man who'd entered the yard through the gate.

"I'll show you!" It was Lord Anstruther. Jimmy turned to see him staggering towards them, still in his pajamas and a dressing gown. He was clearly very drunk. "I'll show you and you'll know!"

Jimmy, still feeling fearless and invincible, took a step towards him. "Lord Anstruther-"

Thomas said, "Jimmy..." Thomas walked in front of him, holding out a hand as if that alone would ward off danger.

"You ruined him!" Lord Anstruther said. "You ruined it all!"

"Jimmy, be careful," Thomas said.

Jimmy glanced at Thomas as if to argue, before looking back at Lord Anstruther just as he was raising his arm. He was nearer now and Jimmy saw it then; the early morning sun hit the metal of the pistol's barrel like a star.

_This is it then_, Jimmy thought. Then he saw that the the gun was not pointed at him at all, but at Thomas.

"I'll show you and then you'll know!"

Anstruther fired just as Jimmy said, "Thomas!" Jimmy spun on his heel, throwing himself in front of Thomas. When the bullet hit him in the back, all he could think was: _It doesn't even hurt._

"Jimmy!" Thomas said. "Jimmy! Help! Somebody help!"

"Aaaaauuggh! Oh God...!" The wail came from Anstruther. Jimmy clutched Thomas's shoulders and felt a terrible weakness that made him unable to stand. He started to fall and Thomas held him up. It hurt then and he groaned; it was an awful pressure.

"Jimmy Jimmy..."

Jimmy mumbled, "Ah, I'm sorry..."

There were footsteps and shouts as he slid to the ground. He dimly heard Alfred's voice far away and then Thomas was speaking. Jimmy thought he might be crying. But Thomas had his arms around him. So Jimmy felt love again like a warm blanket. That made it a bit better.

"Jimmy, just breathe," Thomas whispered. "Just keep breathing. Don't leave me, Jimmy, don't leave me..."

Jimmy closed his eyes. He was so tired suddenly.

_I'd never leave you_, he meant to say.

Jimmy saw lights; bright white lights danced and twinkled. Finally he realized they were the glass droplets of Lady Anstruther's chandelier in her dining room. When he had served there, if the right combination of doors in the house were open, a draft would blow through to shift the chandelier and make the lights and shadows dance.

"I love it when that happens," Jeffrey said. He was eating a pudding. Jimmy wasn't serving him. He was sitting at the table next to Thomas. They were drinking wine.

"Shouldn't we be serving?" Jimmy said. "We'll get into trouble."

He heard gunshots in the distance. The walls of the dining room melted away and they were sitting at dinner in the middle of a dark battlefield.

"No, no, eat all their food," Jeffrey said with a wave of his hand.

"I think we deserve to," Thomas put in.

"It's not that easy," Jimmy said. "I think I might've died."

"And not a moment too soon," Jeffrey sighed. "But don't let me keep you. Look up." Jimmy obeyed and saw the lights bleed into each other, becoming the star of the sun on the pistol's barrel and then collapsing into blackness. "Look up now. Do you hear me? I see you moving. Do you hear me, Jimmy?"

"Do you hear me, Jimmy?"

"Mmm uh..." Jimmy wanted to speak. _Yes, I bloody hear you, Thomas. Stop asking me. _

When he was able to open his eyes he saw blurs that finally became Thomas beside him. He looked pale and disheveled. There was blood all over his shirt.

"Mmm hurt..." Jimmy murmured.

"It hurts?" Thomas said. "I'll fetch some morphine from Clarkson-"

"No...no, um...you're hurt?" Jimmy was on his stomach in a bed. His back ached something awful. His neck was a bit sore too as he was lying at an awkward angle, but he kept it turned to look at Thomas. He wasn't certain he could move anyhow.

"Me?" Thomas had been hovering over him and now he knelt down at Jimmy's side. "I'm not hurt. That's your blood, love." Thomas stroked his hair.

_Thomas was fine. That was the whole point after all. Otherwise, what was he bloody doin' it for?_

"You've been out all day," Thomas said. "But Clarkson's got the bullet out. You're goin' to be laid up for ages probably, but you're goin' to get through it."

"Good," Jimmy said.

"Yeah, good." Thomas kissed his forehead. "God, it's good to see your eyes again."

Thomas sniffed and his eyes flashed. "Were you tryin' to one up me, you moron? All I did was get beaten up, I didn't get bloody shot! That was about the bravest thing I've ever seen. Mad fool."

He leaned back and hesitated before speaking again. "This is probably a lot to take in, but I don't want you to worry... Anstruther gave himself up after a bit of a chase in the woods. He was likely out of his wits. It was a good job you told Carson about him. And then they've got Lady Anstruther's letters... Everyone knows he was after you, I mean. I think we may be alright. Grantham's not goin' to throw us out in the street right off after this. But it's not as if they'll let us stay on knowing we're together. So when you're better... Look, we'll do whatever you want. America, Paris, I don't care. Just don't ever get shot again."

"Mmmm," Jimmy hummed. Thomas kissed his temple. His back was on fire. But he didn't care for the moment.

"I can't believe you, ya know," Thomas said. "Bloody stupid, beautiful... You saved my _life_."

"Ask me why," he whispered.

"Wha..." Thomas looked confused as he played with Jimmy's hair.

"Ask me why, Thomas."

"Fine then. Why?"

Jimmy managed a smile and said, "You know why."


End file.
